Illusion of a Saint
by Alternate Reality1
Summary: There's an enemy admist their ranks. He's hidden in plain sight. The question is... when will the illusion be shattered? [Original tv series story, rated T just in case. Updated every Sunday]
1. Prologue

Hello there! Welcome to my story! I want to get the usual author's notes out of the way here before I begin my tale.

This story has taken me almost 15 years to complete (no word of a lie!) I originally wrote it when I was 19, a young, foolish, innocent student at uni using writing as an escape from studying and revising. It's when I first fell in love with this fandom. I finished the initial draft, minus a couple of parts, and then abandoned it.

It wasn't until last year I picked it back up, dusted it off, went through it with a fine tooth comb and finished it completely. I then edited it again, this time with a more mature mindset, until what you see here was born.

This story is my pride and joy, and it's taken a lot of nerve to finally post it for people to read. It isn't the best written story, and if it never gets one viewing or review I won't mind because I know the blood and sweat I've put into it. I hope you do enjoy it. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Thank you.

**Disclaimer: **none of the characters in this story belong to me (except any original characters of my invention), and thus I've only borrowed them temporarily. All rights belong to their respective owners.

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**ILLUSION OF A SAINT**

"_Nemo liber est qui corpori servit"_ \- No one is free who is a slave to his body (Seneca)

* * *

**Prologue**

Golden reflections shimmered from every angle, bathing the temple in rich, rippling, vibrant colours. Royal reds and sparkling golds lined the bead curtains concealing his statue, the source of his mighty power and the focus of his religion and beliefs. The only sounds to penetrate his ears were his own soft breathing, and the faint ringing of chimes as they swayed. But he heeded nothing of his surroundings. With eyes closed, he focused only on the steady beat of his heart, slow and paced; controlled, just as he required.

Legs crossed, hands resting on his knees, he whispered, his chants floating away on the breeze. For countless hours he had sat in this very position, his body free of any tension that could be counter-productive to his needs. His aim was to prepare his mind and body so they would melt into one being, perfectly synchronised for the task he faced.

He could feel the intense power surge through his muscles, drowning him in concentrated energy forces that could only be described as supernatural. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his body, flooding him with an excitement he had rarely experienced before. This was what he lived for, where his talent lay. This was what made him greater than his enemy; gave him the spotlight in which to perform as the masterful act.

His meditation was almost complete. Balling his fists hard, his mind rode the final wave of empowerment before relaxing with a release of breath. Finally, he had achieved fulfilment. Finally, he was ready to face those he despised in this entire world.

Opening his eyes to the glow of the firelight, he smiled a knowing and malicious smile. His eyes burned with a fiery cunning as everything fell into place. Touching the copper bracelet around his wrist, he was filled with a renewed sense of aspiration. Deep inside, he was ready.

With a widening smile of wicked pleasure, Belah Gaat touched his hands together, a gracious bow to the statue before him, and a soft whisper:

"It is time."


	2. Thicker Than Water

**Chapter 1: Thicker Than Water**

_29__th__ November, 2068_

"Sleep… It's about time!"

Emerging from the en-suite, Scott eyed the soft, comfortable bed before him like an alcoholic renouncing his clean chip. Highlighted by the moonlight radiating through the bedroom window, it was so appealing to his weary bones.

A late night rescue had called for the full team's co-operation. An avalanche in Austria had caused several tonnes of snow to collapse onto a ski resort, trapping hundreds of people. The emergency services had arrived as quickly as they could, but the number of people caught under such weight had forced an even greater urgency upon the rescue. International Rescue had been alerted, on standby for such calls as ever. Horrendous weather conditions across the European continent over the past few days had threatened such disasters, and it had all weighed heavily on the organisation's resources.

An exhausting and seemingly never-ending seven hours had dragged by before they had come even close to having accounted for all the survivors they could. The work had been gruelling, and inevitably had begun to take its toll on all involved. Even Alan, watching the events unfurl from the safety of Thunderbird Five, was exhausted, keeping a persistent vigil over his brothers.

Soon only the dead were being recovered – a task best left to the local rescue teams. Scott had ordered his brothers to pack away all equipment and to head back home, all done without question. Scott had been the last to leave, ensuring the situation was under control.

It was now four in the morning, and the only place he wanted to be was in the comfort of his bed, asleep between the crisp white sheets. He had showered first to shed the dirt and sweat that stuck to him like a second skin, almost falling asleep where he stood - the rhythmic rush of hot water steaming around him, lulling him to slumber.

The effort of walking seemed daunting to him right now. With weary footsteps he made the journey look far more difficult than usual.

He dropped atop the bed sheets face down, the mattress springs bouncing him back gently. He didn't have the energy to move to a more comfortable position, instead preferring to leave himself lying diagonally across the bed with his legs hanging over the side.

Heavy eyelids fell like shutters, blocking out the world around him. Soon, the blanket of silence covered his mind, allowing his dreams to waken for the night.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"He slept like _that_ last night? Man, will he have a sore neck when he wakes up."

"Shh! Not so loud – you'll wake him!"

"Ha! Not likely! Not after the rescue we had last night."

Silence…

"Gordon? What're you up to? You're not…oh, no! No way! He'll have your hide staked out under Thunderbird One's rockets when she next launches, if you do that!" A hushed whisper of warning. Then a stifled snigger, followed by a jab to the ribs. "Ow! Watch it!"

Soft steps sounded in the room. Then a further silence followed...

…eventually shattered by the sound of ice cold water splashing onto exposed skin.

"Ah!" Scott was alert within the space of a nanosecond, and soaking wet. A hand flew to his face, the right side completely drenched. He threw a killer scowl at his redheaded brother, whose face had a bold but cheeky grin beaming from every angle. An empty glass was held loosely by his side; guilty as charged. John stood in the door, his own smile still faintly visible.

"Morning, Scott," John offered weakly, noting the colour seeping into Scott's cheeks – whether from embarrassment or annoyance, he wasn't sure.

Gordon didn't even attempt to hide his snigger at seeing Scott's reaction . Wet hair was plastered to Scott's forehead, adding to the humorous effect the prankster had hoped for. He felt a trickle of water slide down the entire length of his face, eventually dropping from his chin onto his t-shirt. He had daggers in his eyes for his younger brothers.

"What the hell did y –"

"It's after one in the afternoon – thought it was about time you woke up." Gordon butted in, shrugging his shoulders.

Scott smiled sarcastically, cocking his head to one side. "Gee, thanks Gords. You really shouldn't have."

"All part of the friendly room service!" Gordon beamed back, almost jumping on the spot. "Besides, your snoring was disturbing the neighbours."

Scott felt the knot in his neck begin to stiffen. He rolled his head from side to side to try and smooth out the feeling.

Gordon winked over at John, heading towards the doorway. "Told you he'd be aching." Scott watched warily as the prankster left, followed by his astronaut brother, who gave him a sheepish grin. Scott couldn't help but smile in return, knowing that, deep down, he wouldn't change Gordon for the world – no matter how much he felt like throwing him off the balcony sometimes.

Sweeping a hand through his hair – now starting to dry wavy, to add further to his frustration – he dragged his body up and stretched his arms high above his head, adding a loud yawn for effect. He headed into the en-suite to grab a hot shower, hoping it would wake his body in a less extreme way than Gordon's method had.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

A few minutes later, and Scott was heading downstairs towards the kitchen. Now somewhat more alert, his next task was to fill his stomach with a tasty meal.

The clatter of cutlery and china alerted his senses to a presence in the kitchen. Stepping inside, he was greeted by a welcome smile from his oldest brother, Virgil, along with the equally knowing grins of Gordon and John. Virgil's messy hair suggested he had woken not too long ago himself.

"Afternoon, sleepyhead number two," Virgil smiled at his elder brother. "I'm only too glad I didn't get the 'cold water' treatment like you."

Scott seated himself at the table, ruffling Virgil's hair with a quick movement of his hand. "Yeah, it's a wonderful way to come round." Throwing a glance in John's direction, he added, "I noticed you didn't do anything to stop him, _brother dear_."

"How could I? He was holding me to ransom with that water. I was helpless!" John playfully raised his hands in mock surrender. Gordon's trademark grin instantly returned.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever, Johnny boy,"

Virgil stifled back a yawn with his hand. He looked half asleep as he finished his toast in one bite. Scott smiled warmly, knowing it would take a while longer for Virgil to come round.

"What was that about cold water? Oh, good afternoon, Scott. Did you sleep well?" Tin-Tin asked, entering the kitchen as the conversation neared its end.

The late riser waved a hand in reply. "As well as could be, with an annoying younger brother who's not planning to make it past his 26th birthday." Two icy-steel eyes shot a glare to the opposite side of the table. Not understanding, Tin-Tin gave Scott a raised eyebrow. "He poured water on me to wake me up," Scott elaborated.

It was then the spark of an idea ignited in his mind, and a sly grin lit up his face. "I wonder where that water pistol is," he taunted.

Sensing the hint of 'payback', Gordon pushed himself away from the table, quickly excusing himself to head for the nearest escape. "On that note… I think it's time I gave the pool a visit."

"Oh no, you don't!" Scott exclaimed as his target darted from the table, launching himself at the door. Fortunately for Gordon, he had the proximity to the doorway at his advantage. Scott was hot on his heels, scurrying from his seat and rounding the table in record time, shouting, "Gordon, you get back here or prepare for an ass-kicking!" Tin-Tin couldn't help but giggle at the commotion.

Scott almost collided with their father as he burst through the doorway. Skidding quickly to a walk, Scott mumbled a brief, "Sorry, Dad," before continuing his pursuit. Jeff watched on in mild bafflement, a look of amusement crossing his face as he watched his sons head out towards the pool. He shook his head, continuing on into the kitchen to join his remaining two sons.

"What has Gordon done now?" he asked, watching the grins light up the faces of his second and third-born sons.

"You don't want to know, Dad. Trust me!" John sniggered, holding his cup of coffee close, waiting until he had calmed down before even risking a sip.

"You're right, I don't."

Jeff sometimes wondered if, with Gordon, there had been a mix up at the hospital, and they had brought the wrong baby home. But then, there was Alan as well, the other half of the 'Terrible Twosome', as they had become affectionately known, often by Gordon's side and just as much to blame. He shot that theory down straight away.

Sitting across from his sons, he lifted a paper from under his arm and rested it on the table to read. Not looking up, he enquired, "So, what are your plans for today, you two?"

"I need to finish packing," came John's reply. "Ready to take over from Alan up in Five." John turned to look at his brother as Virgil took a long sip of coffee. "That shouldn't take long though, so I thought I'd go and help –"

The distinctive sound of a war-cry, followed by a heavy splash interrupted his sentence. Listening on, they heard a familiar voice cry out, "Score!" with glee, followed by tell-tale sounds of splashing caused by swimming. Each occupant of the kitchen had briefly turned to listen to the antics of the siblings, before returning to their topic of discussion.

"– I'll help Kyrano with his garden," John finished.

Jeff nodded, turning to Virgil and raising his eyebrows in expectation of his answer. "What about you, Virgil?"

"Brains has asked me to help out with a new project of his."

"Oh? What new project is that?"

"He wouldn't say. He's keeping quiet about it until it's finished. Something to do with memory… I'm not sure." Virgil sighed, finishing his coffee, almost choking on the luke-warm liquid when he caught a glimpse of his brother in the doorway.

John couldn't hide the mischievous grin as he studied his younger sibling from head to toe. Gordon's clothes dripped onto the wooden floor, forming a puddle at his feet. He was partly out of breath, but the giddy smile never left his face. Tin-Tin disappeared briefly from the room, returning with a towel. She handed it to the aquanaut, who took it with thanks and began to wipe his face dry. "I'm guessing he caught up with you?" John need not have asked, but couldn't resist.

"Only just! He crept up behind me. I'm telling you, any slower and I would've dragged him in the pool with me!" Gordon exaggerated. John could only shake his head in disbelief.

"You might be quick, Gordon, but Scott beats you hands down in the experience department. He knows you too well," Tin-Tin offered.

"Speaking of experience…I don't think you need any experience to know you don't normally swim with your clothes _on_, Gordon. Go and change them, before you flood the kitchen," Jeff ordered, watching the puddle increasing in size with some worry.

Tin-Tin manoeuvred to mop up the unwanted spill but John prevented her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's okay – I'll take care of it." For the first time he noticed she was wearing her jacket and holding her handbag close, as though she was ready to leave. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked, curious.

"Oh, yes. I'm taking Grandma to the mainland, to do some shopping. I only came in to ask if there was anything you wanted us to pick up while we were there."

"No, I'm fine. Virgil? Dad?"

"No thanks, Tin-Tin."

Jeff thought for a moment, before replying with his own, "That's alright, Tin-Tin. You take Grandma and have a nice time over there. If we think of anything, we'll let you know."

"Of course, Mr. Tracy. See you all soon." And with that Tin-Tin thought it best to leave them to their pranks.

Water cleaned up, John returned to his seat at the table beside Virgil, who now looked as though he'd finally woken somewhat. The elder brother had a mischievous grin on his face again. Leaning in close, he whispered to John, "Do you think Tin-Tin's shopping list includes something for Alan?"

John jabbed an elbow into Virgil's ribs. "I wouldn't be surprised.

"Why is it, though, whenever we ask Alan how he feels about Tin-Tin, he turns bright red and claims, and I quote: 'we're just good friends', unquote?" John asked, sighing, shaking his head. Virgil side-glanced at him, shrugging his shoulders.

"Maybe he's not sure what it is he feels. Or maybe he's just frightened their friendship will be ruined if it doesn't work out. You know they mean the world to each other," he said, resting his head on his hand. "I bet if we left them together up in Thunderbird Five for a month, they'd soon –"

Cutting in mid-sentence, the emergency claxon rang out, and everyone's chronometers vibrated. On cue, all three Tracy men jumped to their feet and, mirroring Scott's earlier manoeuvre round the table, sprinted towards the lounge.

As soon as he arrived behind his control desk, Jeff hit the button to open the link with Alan up on Five, John and Virgil entering close behind. The flashing eyes on the portrait were replaced by the live ones of the young blonde, information ready and waiting.

"Go ahead, Alan."

Alan began to relay the necessary information the team needed, noting the arrival of Scott and Gordon within a minute of their other siblings – Gordon still in his drenched attire. Each stood and soaked in what Alan fed to them, before turning to their father and waiting for their necessary orders.

"All right, Scott, off you go in Thunderbird One."

"F.A.B.," Scott called back as the wall twisted around, taking him out of sight.

"John, you head with Virgil in Thunderbird Two. You'll need the Mole, as well as the smaller excavation equipment."

"F.A.B., Father," each called back – Virgil from the tilting portrait, as he headed down the chute; John from over his shoulder as he ran towards the passenger lift.

Gordon watched as his brothers disappeared through their selected exits, feeling a hint of jealousy that he wasn't chosen for the rescue. But that jealousy quickly dissipated as he reminded himself of what exactly his brothers were doing.

They were saving lives, and _that_ was the important thing, no matter who was chosen to go.

He supposed – reflecting back on John's earlier words – that he should be grateful it was a dunking in the pool Scott had given him in revenge. Feeling the rumble of Thunderbird One's engines made him cringe at the thought of what had been the alternative suggestion. With those thoughts in mind, he headed back towards his room to change, and then to begin his wait in earnest.

Somehow, waiting was always the hardest part.


	3. Electrifying Mysteries

**Chapter 2: Electrifying Mysteries**

"_How's it going down there, guys?"_

Above the drone of the drilling, the voice sounded smooth and controlled. It had to be, as its owner was the field commander over the operation.

"We're almost at the main tunnel, Scott. E.T.A. now at two minutes." John's firm, professional manner coated his words, along with the heavy vibration caused by the Mole.

Scott acknowledged, _"F.A.B."_

The radio fell silent. From his position in the co-pilot seat, John watched on as Virgil controlled the great mechanical drill with a precision earned through experience. On occasions where he was involved in the rescue itself, John was always fascinated watching his brothers at work. As much as he loved his position from Thunderbird Five in the vastness of space, he welcomed the feeling of sweat and physical exertion. It gave him the satisfaction he had contributed more to the rescue than just manning communications.

Alan had another day left before he was due to be relieved of his turn of duty. John wasn't looking forward to the mess he expected to find when he returned to his beloved 'bird. Alan was never one for keeping things in order – where he had inherited that particular trait no one would answer.

"Almost there, John. Get the first aid kits ready." Virgil's mellow voice punched through his thoughts, bringing him back to the current situation with a heavy thump.

John gave his older sibling a brief nod. "All ready to go," he assured.

The Mole's engines whined onward, pushing forward to their destination deep below the Earth's surface. The emergency call had been received not two hours previously, pleading for International Rescue's help. Several cavers had been trapped in an underground tunnel, sealed off from the entrance when a cave-in had occurred close to their location. Their radio signal had been weak, but just strong enough for Alan to detect with Five's computers.

So now here they were, in the middle of British Columbia in Canada, on their third rescue of the week. It had been tough on the team, but they never complained. Even the terrible weather had grown tired and had slackened off a little, offering a somewhat brief respite.

With an eventual jolt, the engines of the Mole ceased. Turning back to the radio, John called in their position. "We've arrived at the co-ordinates, Scott."

The radio crackled to life, followed by _"F.A.B.,"_ sounding through the speaker. Quickly, Scott added, _"Watch yourselves down there. It might be unstable." _ His steady tone did not betray the tension he kept hidden below the surface.

John smiled, knowing Scott wouldn't calm down until they were back on the surface. "F.A.B., Scott," he affirmed. Then with a click, the radio fell silent once again.

Virgil listened in to his brothers' brief exchanges, before reaching for the control panel. He activated the doors and opened them, then headed towards them, signalling for his younger brother to follow. Without a second thought, and with med kits at the ready, they headed off to risk their lives once again for those who needed them.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"_F.A.B., Scott."_ The click at the other end silenced the communication, leaving Scott alone with only the soft humming of the equipment in front of him. He watched as the computers monitored their surroundings, noting any discrepancy that might signal any danger. So far there hadn't been much activity.

Releasing a deep breath, Scott leaned over Mobile Control and prepared himself for the wait ahead. There wasn't much he could do on the surface, except listen to the running commentary as the rescue progressed. He was on hand for any decisions that needed to be called, but other than that this operation was securely in John and Virgil's hands.

The wilderness around him seemed to be almost lifeless at this time of day. It was mid afternoon, yet the faint mist that danced above the snow-covered ground gave a creepy, desolate impression of the area, almost like dusk.

He hadn't been to this part of Canada before, close to the Cariboo Mountains. He would have to come back and take a closer look sometime, when he wasn't out on a call. It seemed an ideal place for Alan to indulge in some exploration, which he loved to do. Moreover, it would give the youngest Tracy a great excuse to release some of his pent-up energy from serving aboard Thunderbird Five for a month. Scott took note of the thought, and filed it away for later.

His shoulders slumped forward, Scott knew he was beginning to feel restless. He itched to do more than just stand and wait for confirmation that his brothers had succeeded. Gradually, he began shuffling his feet from side to side to keep out the cold, glancing over the console monitors for any changes.

That was when he heard the faint sound of crunching snow behind him. Spinning on his heels, his eyes searched for the source of the sound… only to come level with the eyes of a perfect stranger.

"Hello, my friend."

With an evil smile, the man's eyes came to life, glowing with intense heat from within. Before Scott's brain had time to register any response, the man had reached out a hand and clamped it around Scott's wrist. An intense power only likened to electricity bolted through Scott's arm and slammed into the rest of his body. Scott screamed at the agony that surged through his muscles, trying all the while to wrench his arm free of the grasp that held tighter than a vice. He cried for it to stop, the pain flashing before his eyes almost to the point of blackout.

Then the unexpected happened. He felt himself being torn in two. He was aware of his conscious being dragged from his body, but was powerless to stop it. Within seconds, his legs gave way to the snowy ground; his mind fought not to shut down – not to be taken in to the prison of unconsciousness. But it was useless. He was beaten into submission, and his grip on the conscious world slipped into darkness.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Exiting the Mole, the two rescuers were welcomed by the looming darkness. In unison, Virgil and John activated the torches on their hard hats and began their search for survivors.

A monotonous dripping of water echoed around them from every direction. Pools of water gleamed, reflecting the artificial light like sparkling jewels. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, causing them to stumble every now and again as they fought to find leverage. Virgil took the lead, taking reference from his thermal imaging camera as he scanned ahead. John took the more direct approach, calling out only at an audible volume without risking bringing the roof of the tunnel down on top of them. The distorted echo bounced back and forth, criss-crossing across his path ahead. His only replies came from the drips and the clatter of his equipment as he walked on.

Slowly they progressed forward toward the location the camera's monitor indicated. Studying the image, Virgil's eyebrows creased into a frown of uncertainty. "That's strange," he thought aloud. John caught the echo of the whisper as he joined his brother.

"What is it, Virgil?"

Virgil quickly shook his head, dismissing the spoken thought. "Probably nothing, but…" His train of thought faded, as he crooked his lips to one side in thought. "It looks as though they're in a side tunnel just ahead."

John peered over his brother's shoulder to look at the screen. Sure enough, the heat from two figures radiated close to their position. "What's the 'but' you were going to mention? Are we going to have trouble getting through?"

Virgil turned to look him in reassurance, backtracking. "No, we've got the tools we need. It's nothing, really. Come on, we'd better get to work."

Only a few metres ahead, they were greeted by a wall of fallen rocks. The wall looked stable at first glance, almost as though it had been purposely built. Touching the rocks, Virgil felt a soft shift as the wall lost some support. The structure was weak and unstable – so unstable, that it was possible to push the rocks away by hand. Virgil frowned. "This seems strange," he mused aloud again. John sensed his hesitation and decided to perform his own examination of the wall. Touching it lightly, the rocks shifted again, dust sprinkling onto his outstretched hand.

"It's almost as though these rocks were thrown together in a pile." John supplied his own thoughts to the air of confusion floating between them. "It's weak enough for someone to knock down with their bare hands."

"Yeah, well don't be tempted to try that theory out. It might be a different story for those people on the other side," Virgil aired in caution to his younger brother. "Better use the drill."

Grabbing the drill, John lifted it to chest height, and called, "Well, let's get started then." Virgil stepped back, giving his brother some space to start the task. With a flick of a switch, the drilling commenced.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

The dust gradually began to settle around them, causing them to cough. Two hopeful pairs of eyes peered into the darkness, through the twin shafts of light that highlighted each floating dust particle. Nothing moved, save for a small crumbling of rock.

They waited in anticipation of a response, for an ever-hopeful call of reassurance that life still existed and they weren't too late. Keeping their breathing quiet, they listened for the smallest sound, but no response was forthcoming.

Virgil checked his camera again, to be sure they were in the right place. John began to scramble over the low pile of rocks, the fallen remnants of the wall that had blocked their entrance only minutes before.

Lifting his arm to head level, Virgil began to relay to Scott their current action. "Virgil to Mobile Control – we're through to the tunnel where the cavers are trapped. No sign of –"

"Virgil! Get over here quickly!" John's urgent shout bounced wildly in the enclosed space.

Update forgotten, Virgil ran towards the source of his brother's call. Within seconds, he saw John's outline in his torchlight, knelt above the slumped figures of the cavers they had come to rescue. He knelt beside the limp body of the first caver, who lay on his side, motionless. Placing two tight fingers on the man's neck, Virgil felt a slow, steady pulse. John watched on as Virgil checked the man's breathing, noting its regularity with mild relief.

"Pulse is strong. Breathing seems uncompromised. He may have been knocked out during the rock fall."

John nodded, agreeing with Virgil's findings. "That's what I thought, but the other caver is in the same condition." He paused, before adding, "They look as though they're sleeping."

Scanning over the second unconscious man, Virgil slowly nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, they do." Holding that thought, Virgil looked back to the first caver he had checked over. He took careful note of the man's complexion, and of his calm breathing. There were no signs of a struggle or of injury to the man – to either of them, he noted.

Taking charge of the situation, Virgil gave the required orders. "Okay, let's get them to the Mole. Whatever the cause, they need to be checked out by a doctor." A silent nod was his answer from John, as Virgil turned to his wrist comm. again to alert Scott. "Mobile Control – we're bringing the cavers back up in the Mole. They're both unconscious, but they don't appear to have any serious injuries." He waited for confirmation from Scott that he had received and understood, but instead he was greeted with silence.

He tried again. "Scott, this is Virgil – do you read me?"

He waited. There was further silence.

"Could be a weak signal. Something in the rock interfering with transmission, maybe," John offered as a weak explanation.

"Could be," Virgil answered, but John knew his brother wasn't accepting it. "Come on, we'd better get moving. Help me with the stretchers will you?" Virgil half-turned to John, gesturing to the medical kits they had carried from the Mole. Both brothers were eager to get the unconscious men to the nearest hospital to be treated.

Equally, though, they both needed to return to the surface to check on their older brother, anxiety beginning to form in the pits of their stomachs from the unusual silence of their field leader.

Something was definitely amiss – not only with Scott, but with the whole rescue so far. And they couldn't even begin to guess what it was.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The journey back to the surface seemed to last an eternity. Slow progress was made returning to the surface via the previously excavated tunnel. Neither of them wanted to voice their concern to the other, for fear of it all being true.

Throughout their return journey, John repeated his attempts to contact their older brother, but without success. Even if he had left Mobile Control for whatever reason, Scott would still respond to his wrist comm., or would have at least returned to his position at Mobile Control before now. Something was wrong.

John knew he was worried, but he could only imagine what Virgil was thinking as they silently neared the surface. Without word, John moved towards the back of the Mole, where the stretchers where located, to check on their passengers. They hadn't moved, or shown any signs of regaining consciousness. They were peacefully unaware of anything that was happening around them. The portable monitors reported every beat of their heart, still remaining as steady and calm.

_Rescued…_ John began to mull over the rescue once again. _If both men were unconscious down there, then who called for help? There was no one to meet us when we arrived, so who knew they were down there? And what about the apparent lack of caving equipment? Neither man was wearing suitable clothing as such._ He shook his head clear of the thoughts. _There'll be an explanation somewhere. Guess I'm just too tired to think of it right now._

"Mole to Mobile Control – come in, Scott." Virgil tried once again, persistent in trying to reach his brother. John returned to his seat beside the pilot, waiting for any sign of a response over the airwaves.

"Are we near the surface?"

"We're there, but there's still no word from Scott." Turning a worried expression to John, Virgil attempted to slide an expression of calm over his features. "Okay, John you go over to Mobile Control, and check on Scott. I'll get the Mole boarded back into the pod and move the passengers to Thunderbird Two's sick bay."

"Sure thing, Virgil. Positive you can manage on your own?"

"Positive." The Thunderbird Two pilot gave a quick assuring nod, before turning back to the controls. He prepared the Mole for mounting back onto its trolley.

John patted his brother's shoulder, picking up a med kit and his parka, before heading towards the Mole's exit. "I'll be back as soon as I can, to help," he called back.

Opening the door, the flash of intense sunlight caused John to squint and lift his hand to shield his eyes. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust from the softer luminance of the artificial lighting in the Mole. The sunlight gleamed off the freshly fallen snow, brilliant white contrasting with the yellow beast he had just stepped from.

He walked forward a few feet, hearing the mechanism of the Mole's door closing to. He watched as the giant digger retracted back onto its trolley, noting how gracefully it climbed up until the locking mechanisms activated, securing the machine into position. Then, with tracks grinding over mushy snow, the Mole turned to head towards its home in the giant pod, not far away.

Searching the landscape, John caught sight of a sharp glint of sunlight as it reflected off metal. The slim, silver reconnaissance 'bird sat in silence, her colour almost blending her in with the forest that surrounded her under the bright winter sun. Mobile Control sat only a few feet away from her, without sign of her pilot.

Pulling his heavy fleece parka around his shoulders, John started his short trek towards the control point of the rescue. It wasn't until he was a few feet away that he noticed a figure nearby, doubled over. He saw the back of the figure arched over, shivering in an attempt to calm his breathing.

"Scott? Scott, are you all right?" John called out, the cold atmosphere turning his breath to a cloud of mist as it escaped his lips. Quickening his pace, he watched as Scott gingerly shifted around to the front of the control panel, holding himself steady. He looked up only when John approached, releasing a shaky breath. "Scott, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" John's concern began to rise in the tone of his voice when his brother didn't answer.

Scott steadied himself for a moment, raising a hand to his younger brother to silence his concern. "I'm…I'm fine. It's…just a headache." John caught the brief wince as he spoke. With great care, John placed a hand on his brother's back, a soothing circular rub to try and calm his brother down and to help him compose himself. Taking a closer look, John noticed a small trickle of blood beginning to run down the left hand side of Scott's face.

"No Scott, you're _not_ fine. Let me take a look at you – you're bleeding." At the sound of John's worried tone, Scott glanced over to his younger brother for the first time since John had arrived. Cautiously he lifted a hand to his face, only to draw his fingers back with blood on the tips. The sight didn't seem to disturb him in the least.

Before Scott knew it, John had opened up the med kit and placed a soft piece of gauze onto the wound to stop the bleeding, eliciting a hiss as the antiseptic stung on contact. He screwed his face up in disgust.

"Oh, stop being a baby, Scott. Don't want to ruin your reputation as 'hard man', do you?" The only answer John got was a scowl.

After a few moments, the elder Tracy straightened up until his height reached past John's. John lifted away the pad as Scott, placing his hands on his lower back, stretched until he felt the knots untangle in his stiff muscles.

"Are you all right?" John asked once again, needing the reassurance there was nothing else Scott had failed to mention.

Scott closed his eyes as his back righted itself, nodding in reply. "Yeah, I'm all right now."

Folding his arms in a stance of questioning, John asked, "So, care to tell me what happened?"

Scott shook his head to try and uncover the blanket of uncertainty. "I don't know… I don't remember." He raised a hand to his mouth in thought. "One moment I was standing here waiting to hear from you, and then the next… I think I must have blacked out."

"You _blacked out_?" John replied, a tone of concern throwing the uncertainty blanket back over his own words. Taking the appearance of his brother into account, he noted the powdered snow that still clung to the arms and back of his brother's parka, where he presumed Scott had fallen onto the snow. There were still some traces of snow clumped in his hair, which were shaken free each time Scott moved.

"I think so. All I remember is waking up with a headache," Scott began, but was interrupted by a scratchy voice from John's comm.

"_John, this is Virgil – come in, John."_

"John here, Virgil. I've found Scott. He seems all right, apart from a small cut to his head, and a headache."

An audible sigh of relief first answered his statement, followed by a more questioning tone. _"Cut? A headache? Why, what happened?"_

"I'm not sure – Scott thinks he might've blacked out."

"_Blacked out?"_ Virgil's tone was an exact replica of that John had used only moments before.

"That's what he says."

"_We'd better get Brains to check him over when we get back home. Make sure nothing serious is wrong."_ John nodded in agreement, watching Scott from the corner of his eye. His oldest sibling seemed to be taking a close interest in the conversation.

"I agree. How's it going at your end? Do you need me to come over and help?"

"_I'm fine, John. I'm just taking the men up to the sick bay now." _There was an audible click in the background, signalling that the lift in Thunderbird Two had arrived at its destination. _"You can help Scott pack away Mobile Control. I'll be over there in a few minutes."_

"F.A.B." John signed off promptly, returning his attention to his brother nearby. Scott seemed to be steadier on his feet now, with the colour having partially returned to his cheeks. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right now, thanks." Scott's response seemed to be more certain, but one that John felt he wasn't faking just to reassure his brother. In fact, Scott seemed eager to move, to do something other than stand around waiting in the cold.

With the thought of the warm tropical breeze to greet him back at base, John found his own eagerness prompting him into action. "Okay then, let's get this stuff back into Thunderbird One, and let's get on our way home." Both men started to push the cumbersome equipment back to Thunderbird One. In no time at all the equipment had been stored away, though John couldn't help noticing his brother's brief, confused look as they had carried out the task. It was as though Scott couldn't recall where anything went.

There was a gnawing feeling in John's stomach that wouldn't relent. Something was amiss, but he didn't know what.

His thoughts lost in the haze of confusion, he almost missed the crunching of snow behind him, his attention snapped back into action.

Spinning on his heels, his eyes searched for the source of the sound… only for his cobalt eyes to fall level with Virgil's chestnut brown.

"Hey, John. Got everything stored away?" the engineer enquired. John nodded in response, but knew Virgil wasn't paying attention – instead his attention was thrown over at Scott.

"How are you feeling, Scott?" Virgil asked his close companion, concern washing over his features as he examined Scott's appearance.

"I'm all right!" Scott replied shortly, snapping with impatience at the constant questioning.

Virgil lifted his hands in surrender, a small apology for annoying his brother. "Just asking, that's all. Who woke you up on the wrong side of the bed this morn-" Realising what he was about to say, Virgil decided he wanted to keep his neck intact. "Never mind."

Turning partly to his co-pilot, Virgil continued. "We should get the two cavers to the nearest hospital. They seem to be doing fine, but they need to be checked out, just in case." John agreed with a nod. "We'd better get a move on. Scott, we'll see you back at base. Tell Grandma we'll be… Scott, what's wrong?"

At the mention of the word 'base', Scott's complexion had paled considerably. Virgil had noticed immediately the silent alarm of panic. John began to step forward in case Scott fainted again, but was stopped as Scott put out his arms to prevent him from moving any closer. "I'm all right, I think."

Virgil's head began to shake in disagreement. "No, Scott, you're not all right. In fact, I don't think you should fly Thunderbird One home – not in your condition." He waited for the expected response from Scott – the 'I'm-fine-I-can-fly-home' routine – but it failed to materialise. This brought a matching pair of questioning frowns from Virgil and John.

"John, you should fly Thunderbird One home. I'll transport the casualties to the hospital, while Scott rides with you."

Again the younger brothers waited for a retort. Again none came.

It seemed the gnawing worry had struck Virgil too, considering he was swallowing hard. Looking over to John, he noted the same expression. The worry caused both younger siblings to momentarily lose their power of speech, allowing a silence to float between the three men.

"Right, er… Sure thing. Let's... let's go, Scott. I'll see you back at Base, Virg." John stammered, unease growing in his mind. Turning quickly back to Virgil he added, "I'll er… alert Base, let them know to have Brains ready". With that, he turned to leave.

Virgil watched as Scott took John's lead. There was no sign of any attempt to regain control of the situation from Scott's view, he noted with worry.

Something was very wrong, Virgil didn't doubt. He was unnerved to hear his brother had possibly fainted, but granted, that was not entirely implausible. They had been on numerous rescues as of late, with little rest in between. Perhaps Scott was simply exhausted, his fainting spell just his body's way of reminding Scott to slow down every once in a while.

But no matter how many times Virgil ran through the possible excuses, none of them reassured him. He was making himself even more sick with worry just thinking about the whole matter.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden blast of Thunderbird One's take-off jets. He watched as the sleek 'bird gracefully lifted into the air – not a bad take off for John, considering it had been a while since he had flown her. Returning to his own task, Virgil turned to head back to his own green craft that sat patiently waiting for the return of her pilot.

The sooner they all returned home, the sooner they could find some answers.

* * *

A/N: Just a quick note to say thank you for the reviews - I'm glad you're enjoying this story!


	4. Does Not Compute

**Chapter 3: Does Not Compute**

Brains watched as another set of readings scrolled down the computer screen. Algorithms, coding - or, as Gordon referred to it, 'geek's talk'. With a final bleep the readings ended, making him frown with puzzlement.

"That's odd," he noted to himself, his stutter absent. "That shouldn't be there. Why..."

"_Brains, are you there?"_ The intercom sounded to life, startling the young scientist from his thoughts in a flash. A frown of annoyance covered his face at being disturbed, but then was quickly washed away and replaced with one of concern.

"I'm h-h-here, Mr. T-Tracy."

"_Sorry to disturb you, Brains."_

"N-N-No problem, Mr. Tracy. What can I, ah, do for you?"

"_I've just received a call from John in Thunderbird One. He's reported that Scott fainted during the rescue in Canada. There's only a small cut on his forehead, but still, I'd like you to check him over."_

"Of course, Mr. Tracy. I-I-I'll be on standby in the s-sickbay."

A grateful tone emerged from the speaker. _ "F.A.B. Thanks, Brains. Thunderbird One should be here in ten minutes."_

Turning back to his workbench, Brains' mind began to mull over the possible reasons for Scott fainting. He knew each Tracy brother's medical history thoroughly, sometimes through direct experience, unfortunately. They had all had their share of injuries and illnesses, though there was nothing to suggest any recurring condition in any of them. For Scott, fainting was unheard of.

Brains quickly made his way to the medical bay to prepare the equipment he would need. Something nagged at the back of his mind that this was going to be a day like no other.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The familiar rumble of the VTOL jets signalled the return of the scout ship. Jeff watched from inside the lounge with interest, noting the subtle differences of John's landing compared to Scott's. The procedure was steady and sure, though somewhat slower compared to Scott's more confident landing. Each son had been fully trained to operate all the Thunderbird ships, though the simulator could never entirely replicate the real experience of operating any of the mighty craft.

He smiled, approving the textbook landing. It had been a while since John had flown Thunderbird One, but his experience had yet to rust.

Down below, Jeff noted the slender figure of his fourth-born on the beach, skimming stones in the water to relieve the tension he was feeling. Since the pool was out of bounds – for Thunderbird One's sake – Gordon had retreated to the shimmering waves of the South Pacific ocean, feeling a rhythmic calm as the water rushed over his feet. He was often impatient to hear of his brothers' progress, and only relaxed when they returned home. Jeff could certainly sympathise with his son's worry, mirroring his own.

Jeff watched his son with interest for a moment longer, before turning to head back into the lounge. _Better go and see how the boys are, _he thought.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"I keep telling you, I'm fine, _really_." The aggravated tone of the eldest brother snaked along the corridor like a creeping vine, twisting towards the ears of Jeff Tracy. It sounded uncannily like his own in many ways – there was no doubting Scott had taken after him, more so than from his mother.

John's steady, calming tone followed closely behind, the voice of reason. "Scott, we only want Brains to give you a quick examination just to make sure. You did faint, after all, and that cut, at least, needs seeing to. It might need stitches."

"I-I-It won't take long, I, ah, p-p-promise," Brains reassured.

There was an exasperated sigh, signalling Scott's eventual surrender to the arguments presented. "All right, all right. Anything to keep you two happy."

Jeff smiled with amusement. He had to hand it to the Tracy stubbornness; it was harder to conquer than the proverbial mule at times, especially with Scott. He had, without doubt, the most experience in how to put his foot down on an issue, and how to keep it there. Scott had been Alan's role model in that respect, and often it would be a contest as to who was the most steadfast of the pair.

Jeff approached the open door of the medical bay and peered in at the centre of all the activity. Scott was sat on one of the beds, with John standing by his side. Brains stood on the other side of the bed in front of one of the computers, rapidly typing in several commands, activating various pieces of equipment he needed for the medical scan. Scott seemed almost perplexed as he watched each machine hum to life. Jeff took careful note of his eldest's expression.

Brains finished his typing, and manoeuvred round to stand in front of Scott. "N-N-Now, Scott," he instructed, while pulling out some equipment from the side of the bed. "I want, ah, you to look s-straight ahead for me."

Scott drew back slightly from the scientist, a dubious look creeping onto his features. John seemed to notice his brother's reluctance, moving himself around to face Scott to look into his eyes. "Scott? What is it?" John asked.

Jeff frowned as he waited for the reply. Normally a medical scan was routine for any of them, and his sons were more than comfortable with any procedure Brains performed on them. _Usually_ they were.

Scott stared back at John, unsure how to explain himself. "I… This isn't… Nothing." Scott eventually settled for the single word answer, not finding the excuse he wanted to stop the examination. To himself Jeff worried even more, as his attention was drawn to the angry purple bruise that had started to form on Scott's forehead.

With some reluctance, Scott propped himself on the end of the bed and stared straight ahead. A bright light pierced his eyes as the equipment was pushed in front of him, making him squint. The young scientist peered through the lens of the machine – not dissimilar to what an optician would use – to examine behind the icy blue eyes.

The white plastic and metal components of the machine reflected the fluorescent lighting overhead, giving the room a sterile and spotless atmosphere – which it was, of course. A soft "hmm" softly vibrated the air, as Brains took note of what he saw. Then, moving the equipment to one side, Brains reached up and pulled down another machine into view – a narrow flat screen that hung low over the bed.

"Now S-S-Scott, lie back and t-t-try, ah, to relax."

Scott squinted curiously up at the flat screen above him. It looked more like a tanning machine than a scanner. Slowly, he lifted his legs onto the bed and watched as the scanner flashed into life. It lowered until it was just above his head. It was clear it unnerved him.

Outside the confines of the bay a faint, low rumble signalled the return of the green carrier – the second of the Thunderbird fleet. Jeff recognised the sound, coming from the direction of where the cliff side hangar was located. He looked back at Scott to see that the body scanner's light had come to life and had begun its pre-programmed operation. Brains watched on a computer monitor as a 3-D image of Scott's head began to emerge on the screen. "Sounds like Virgil is back," Jeff announced, alerting all in the med-bay of his presence.

Placing a hand on John's shoulder and in a lowered tone, he whispered to John, "John, I want to see you up in my study for debriefing. _Now_."

John nodded, glancing at Scott as the scan moved across his forehead. Placing a reassuring hand on his older brother's arm, he whispered, "I won't be long, Scott. I'll be right back."

He watched on, his brother giving the slightest nod, nothing more. There was no other acknowledgement – no smile, no look to reassure his worried brother, nothing at all. It was as though Scott was brushing his brother off somehow, which John knew he never did. There seemed to be a lack of any warm emotion, or even a familiar, loving recognition. Scott almost felt like a familiar stranger, recognisable but alien in his behaviour.

_What happened to you, Scott?_ John wondered, turning to leave the room to head for his father's study.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Jeff took his place behind his desk, awaiting the arrival of his two sons. He had radioed to Virgil that he wanted to see him straight away, knowing if he hadn't, Virgil would have headed straight to the medical bay to see how Scott was doing.

A firm knock on the door announced their arrival. "Come in!"

A head of striking blonde hair peered around the door, its owner entering first. His older brunette brother followed close behind, pushing the door to, blocking off the rest of the Villa.

"Sit down, boys." Jeff gestured to the two seats in front of his desk. They quickly obeyed, with John choosing to sit to his father's left.

Leaning forward onto his elbows, stretching out his arms and interlacing his fingers, Jeff took on the posture of authority – the strict, military authority that had remained a part of him from his Air Force days. "To begin with," he started, "I would like to know what happened on the rescue. John, would you like to start?"

John nodded, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable. Virgil sat back, crossing his legs to prepare to listen. "As you know," John began, "we were called to help a group of trapped cavers just east of the Chilako River, in western Canada. We arrived shortly after Scott, who had already set up Mobile Control and had scanned the area. The tunnel the cavers had gone into had been blocked off by a rock fall, so we took the hydraulic equipment, along with the med kits. Virgil used the thermal imaging computer to locate the cavers." John coughed slightly to clear the tickle in his throat, before continuing.

"We located the cavers in a side tunnel, to the right of the main pathway. We found where the rock fall had blocked their escape, so I used the drill to create an access hole. The cavers weren't far from the entrance. They were unconscious, but appeared to be unhurt."

"John noted they looked like they were sleeping," Virgil supplied as John paused.

"They did. They didn't seem to be injured, but Virgil took them to the nearest hospital to be checked over, to be safe."

Jeff nodded, rubbing a hand along his chin. "That's good news. So I'm correct in having the impression the rescue itself went smoothly?" he queried.

Both John and Virgil nodded to confirm, though Virgil held a frown on his face, his eyes staring off into the distance in thought. His father noticed his reluctance. "What is it, Virgil? Is something bothering you?"

"Well… I'm not sure." Jeff frowned at Virgil's reply, unsure of what to expect. "Where we found the cavers I thought was unusual. I mean, I'm not a caving expert, by any means, but the tunnel they were found in wasn't one of the main passages. It was only a short, eroded passage formed by the underground river that used to run through there before it was diverted several years ago. Those cavers didn't have a reason to be in that passage."

"So that's what you thought was strange, when we first headed down to the passage," John mentioned, referring back to his brother's earlier apprehension. Virgil nodded.

Jeff's engineering son continued to explain his thoughts. "Then there was the supposed 'rock fall' we came across. The wall was weak – so weak you could push your hand straight through it with enough force. It was as though the rocks had been placed there, as…well, as _strange_ as that sounds." Virgil's lips twitched in further thought.

"I also noticed there was a lack of caving equipment. No hard hats, no flashlights – nothing at all," John added as an afterthought.

"I can't help but feel this whole rescue was a set-up. I mean, there were only two cavers to begin with, which isn't unusual in itself but the rescue call mentioned a group of cavers, implying there were more than two. The way we found them also… I don't know." Virgil shrugged, lifting his hands almost in defeat at having to think of possible reasons. "I don't know about you John, but I was under the impression they'd been drugged."

Jeff's look of surprise didn't go unnoticed by either son. "Drugged?"

"That's the only explanation I can come up with." Virgil shrugged non-conclusively.

"You think this was a set-up, and that Scott may have been attacked?" John offered to his brother.

"How _is_ Scott?" Virgil rushed to seize the opportunity to change the subject; the hint of eagerness detectable in his voice, of wanting to know how his closest brother was.

"Brains is giving him a check-up as we speak, and running some scans to be sure," Jeff reassured him. "You don't think Scott fainted, as he claims?" He laid out the question to both of his sons.

Answered John, "Thinking about it, I'm not sure. If it _was_ all a set-up and Scott _was_ attacked, then that could explain Scott's condition. Though, granted, he could have hit his head on the computer console, if he did indeed faint."

"Was the cut on his head bad?" Virgil posed to John.

John looked to his older brother with a mixed look of concern and partial reassurance. "It was only a small cut, but the bruising looked angry. To be honest, I think it looked far worse than it was." John gave a small smile, but Virgil wasn't eased by his brother's optimism in the slightest.

John returned to his previous train of thought, before the brief derailment. "Something must have happened for Scott not to respond to our calls. A number of minutes passed before I reached him at Mobile Control. He looked pale, and complained of a headache, which doesn't surprise me from the bump on his head."

Jeff paid close attention to the concerns of his sons. It was clear something unusual had happened, but he was unsure if anyone else was involved. He leaned forward to assert his position in the conversation. "I see your points, and I take them with due consideration," he addressed his sons. "I know you're both concerned about Scott, just as I am. Brains should have his examination completed soon, so we'll take things from there.

"As for the rescue itself – well, I'm certainly relieved nothing more serious happened. You've all returned home _relatively_ unharmed, and none of the equipment has been damaged. Of course, we need to remain aware of possible attacks of sabotage, as we've always done since International Rescue was formed. But we'll need to take extra precautions.

"I'll contact Alan in Thunderbird Five to tell him to monitor all calls closely, especially those in or near the region where today's rescue took place. If this was a set-up, then we may hear further plans for future false rescues."

"That's a good idea, Dad," John agreed. "I can take over tomorrow when I start my duty on Five – tune into local frequencies, private calls and such, see if anything of interest appears."

Jeff nodded in agreement. "Certainly, John. As for the rest of you – well, this applies to all of you – I want all protocol followed to the letter, do you understand? You remain in constant contact with one another, every minute if you have to. All equipment has to be secured during rescues, and not left unattended."

"We know, Dad, and we always follow procedure…"

"I know, Virgil, but I don't want any of you at risk if it can be avoided." Jeff's eyes held a stern look, pressing his point home.

The brothers glanced at each other. Both John and Virgil knew it was the paternal instinct kicking in over their safety, but each couldn't help but feel the small nudge of patronising in his words. Procedure was now disciplined into them so much it had become second nature. But neither dared to speak against their father. They both knew he had every right to be worried.

Jeff's tone now held the concerned, paternal tone used when making a important point. "Somebody aims to find the secrets of our organisation, and may be prepared to go to any lengths to attain them. I want detailed reports of all rescues, and anything out of the ordinary – no matter how small – I want to know about it. Is that understood?" He looked to each man in turn.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay then. You'd both better go and clean up. John, are you packed and ready for your tour of duty?"

"Yes, Father," John replied, standing from his seat, eager to leave the room. The study always had a feeling of strictness to him. Ever since they were kids, back in their Kansas home, their father's study had always been off-limits. None of the boys had been allowed to enter without permission – possibly due to Jeff's fear of the damage they could achieve unsupervised. Very important paperwork rested in locked filing cabinets, securely away from the temptation of sticky fingers.

It had always been viewed as a room with an atmosphere of authority. Back in Kansas, the study was the room that had been used for meetings of the 'misbehaving' kind, where one or more of the brothers would be in trouble with their father. Not only that, but with a house full of testosterone-fuelled boys, it had acted as a sanctuary for Jeff to have some time to himself. And he had needed it.

The principle of the study had been carried over when designing the layout of Tracy Island, along with some of the style. The island study had been beautifully draped in décor suited more to that of the previous century – mahogany panels lining the lower walls, with complementing bookcases and furniture to one side of the room. Soft cream walls added the perfect finishing touch.

For conducting business work, it gave the impression of professionalism and savvy charm. If a report was due, it was due _now_. For conducting debriefs, it demanded no nonsense. If something had gone wrong, now was not the time to cover it up.

Eager to leave the somewhat stifling atmosphere, the two brothers left without another word. As soon as the door clicked shut, both released a small breath of relief. It was scary the effect a room like that could have on them.

"Well, that went better than expected." John couldn't keep the hand from running through his hair, the tension beginning to leave his system.

Virgil looked to him with sympathy. "Tell me about it. I thought Dad was going to give us the lecture of all lectures in there, about security and such. But we've got to understand, he's just worried about us, that's all."

"I know that, Virg." The nickname for his older brother coming into use, rarely heard from John unless he was tense. Instead, the name was usually reserved for use by Scott. "But it's not like we're still kids or anything. We know we've always been prepared for any possibilities of attack, hence why we carry weapons to defend ourselves." John looked sternly into the autumn-brown eyes of his brother, almost in defiance, but then gave in and softened. "But I know what you're saying."

Virgil could see the concern deep below the surface of John's sky-blue eyes. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, Virgil said, almost begging, "Just keep it in mind, John. That's all Dad's asking of us."

John smiled back, and ruffled his brother's hair. "Sure thing, bro. It's not me you should be worrying about though, not right now. We have an injured brother waiting for you down in the sick bay." Throwing an arm around Virgil's stocky shoulders, he added, "Come on. Let's pay big brother a visit."

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

With careful application, the skin glue was smoothed into place over the open cut. Brains studied the area closely before stepping back, satisfied with his work. He placed the remaining glue in the kidney dish beside him, glancing back up at Scott and smiling. "All right, Scott. You c-can sit back on the b-b-bed now."

Scott shuffled back from the edge of the bed. The young scientist darted back over to the computer, waiting for the final analysis to appear on-screen. The marked tapping of the keys was the only active sound in that moment in time, underlined by the hum of the computer's busy processor. Scott watched with only mild interest, the proceedings meaning very little to him. Brains was too wrapped up in his findings to notice.

Scott didn't see Brains' frown, camouflaged by the reflections of the monitor's glare in his glasses. He, however, did hear the approaching of footsteps towards them.

Into the medical bay appeared two friendly faces, each decorated with a warm smile. "Hey, Scott, how are you feeling?" Virgil asked, entering the room ahead of his younger brother. He crossed over to reach his older brother's side, and placed a strong hand on his arm. John wasn't far behind, stepping towards the end of the bed and leaning on the bed frame.

"I feel good, now that the headache's gone," Scott nodded, a small smile flashing across his face. It was enough to bring a smile of relief to John's face, but Virgil had his reservations.

John wandered over to peer over Brains' shoulder. The scientist hadn't heard them enter, too engrossed with the readings on the computer to notice anything around him.

"Brains?"

He started at his name, grabbing his glasses before they fell. "Sorry, Brains, I didn't mean to make you jump," John apologised.

"T-T-That's o-okay John. I d-d-didn't, uh, hear you enter." He smiled to the blonde behind him.

"How's Scott doing? Did you find anything?"

"W-Well, apart from the c-c-cut to his head, I d-d-didn't find anything else wrong with him. No unusual b-b-brain activity, or, uh, illness as such or any signs of a concussion."

"That's something of a relief." John stroked his chin in thought. "So what could have caused him to black out?"

"The only ex-explanation I can think of is, ah, exhaustion. You _have_ been out on s-s-several, uh, rescues, as such, i-i-in the past few d-days. I would say S-Scott simply needs some rest."

John turned to study his older brother, looking on with new light shed on the matter. Scott would be the last to admit he was exhausted, but he did indeed show the first signs of bags under his eyes.

He watched as Virgil held Scott in quiet conversation, the elder often answering only with a nod or shake of his head. They all needed a break of some kind – perhaps this had simply been Scott's body's way of pressing the point home, before something more serious happened.

Brains watched the concerned expression etch itself onto John's face, noting, "J-Just keep a watchful, ah, eye on h-him for now, John." John quickly glanced back, a warm 'thanks' on his lips, and walked back over to the conversing couple nearby.

Virgil looked up as John approached them. "So what's the diagnosis, Doc?" he jokingly enquired, keeping a mock face of seriousness in place.

"Well, I'm afraid to say you'll have to make a decision, Mr. Tracy. We either save you or the baby."

Virgil smirked at the poor joke. "Very funny."

"Brains thinks it's just exhaustion. Which means you've been overworking yourself, _as usual_." John cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Scott's comeback to that.

"I know, er…_Brains _told me as much." It was very subtle, but Scott's verbal stumble on the name was caught to all. Scott shrugged, not even trying to defend his actions. John looked over to Virgil, watching a frown begin to form.

Virgil was the first to air his concern. "Scott, are you _sure_ you're all right?" John wasn't the only one to feel something was amiss then. Virgil was the most perceptive of the brothers, and was the best one to indicate if he suspected something was wrong.

"Look, I've had the cut fixed up, and my headache's gone. I'd say I was as good as I could ever be," Scott snapped, a little terse at the constant questioning. A look of panic flashed across his face as soon as the words had left his lips, and he instantly regretted speaking them. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I just need some rest, that's all. I just want to go to my room, and sleep a while."

Virgil studied Scott's demeanour for a moment, then began to nod in agreement. "Sure thing. That's a good idea. Come on," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the door. "I'll walk up with you, then come back and help Brains with his project, as agreed."

"I'll come with you – I need to finish preparing for tomorrow." John smiled, moving around the bed to his brothers' sides.

Scott's smile increased, a softly spoken "Thanks" expressing his gratitude. Easing himself up off the bed, he waited for Virgil to take the lead out of the sick room. They left in silence, leaving Brains to reflect with interest on the conversation he had been privy to.

He smiled to himself. He certainly loved this family with his heart, and he would give anything to keep them safe. Turning back to the computer, he continued to study Scott's results, intending to do just that.


	5. Finding NEMO

**Chapter 4: Finding NEMO**

The silence didn't last long between the brothers once they had left the medical bay. John was the guilty offender for breaking the silence. "Oh, I meant to mention earlier – that was great payback on Gordon this morning, Scott. Nice move." There was a notable hint of admiration in his voice.

Scott's confused look wasn't missed. "Payback?" he queried, the tone matching his expression. "What payback is that?"

"You know – the dunking in the pool you gave him." John's eyes reached Scott's, a questioning look passing between them.

At first there was no indication that Scott recalled anything of the incident, but after a moment a teasing smile rose on his face. "Oh the dunking! I remember now. Yeah, that was pretty good. He deserves all he gets." His expression said more than his words, raising a snort from his brothers.

"You've got that right, only he never knows when to draw the line. Kid brothers, eh? You can't live with them, but you can't live without them." A short sigh escaped John's lips, just as the group arrived beside the door to Scott's room.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it. I'd better get the rest of my things together." John placed an affectionate hand on Scott's shoulder. "You take care of yourself. Remember, you're no good to us sick." He gave a gentle squeeze, before heading past Scott to Virgil's side. "Keep an eye on him, brother," he whispered in Virgil's ear. Virgil winked, knowing he really didn't need to be asked. John carried on past him, onward to his own room at the end of the corridor.

Virgil turned to Scott, only to catch the questioning look appear across the elder's face. "He's only worried about you, Scott, that's all. That, and the state in which he's going to find Thunderbird Five when he gets up there tomorrow. You know what Alan's like." Virgil's smile grew across his face, thinking about their baby brother and his lack of a certain skill known as 'organisation'.

"I know, Virgil, I know. But you shouldn't worry – _really_." Turning towards the door, Scott placed a hand up to the keypad and pressed the button to activate it. "I just need some sleep. I'm telling you, by tomorrow morning you'll be seeing a new me – rested, and ready for action!" His smile was somewhat rousing and enthusiastic, causing Virgil to reply with his own. He followed his older brother into his room, his mind still mulling over several questions.

"Scott?" Virgil began tentatively, as Scott turned to face him. "If something was wrong, you'd tell me about it, wouldn't you? I mean, you can talk to me about anything, you know that, don't you?"

Virgil looked critically at his brother, noting any change in his body language. That would be the first thing to ring alarm bells if anything was wrong. He saw a look of question wash across his brother's face, before settling back into a neutral, but slightly annoyed expression. "I know that, sure. You'd be the first to know if _anything_ was wrong – I _promise_. Now quit worrying!" Scott pressed, folding his arms.

"Okay, okay – I believe you." Virgil finally surrendered, holding his hands aloft. Stepping forward, he placed a hand on Scott's arm, and patted it with a strong, steady action. For a brief second he thought he felt Scott stiffen at the touch, but quickly recovered as his gesture was accepted.

Virgil watched as his exhausted brother made himself comfortable on his bed. He had, without doubt, earned his rest over the years, but even so Scott was the type who refused to accept it. Virgil mulled over the thought and frowned, something in his mind telling him he should be concerned by the change in Scott's behaviour. He shook the thought away, the contradiction clear to see. Even if Scott had refused to take some time-out for himself, Virgil would only be trying to force him to take some anyway.

He turned to leave, part of him reluctant to do so. "You need anything, just give us a call."

Scott grunted in return, and watched as Virgil headed out the door. The smooth mechanics of the door activated, bringing it to a close to block out the outside world and leave him alone with his thoughts.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Scott waited for a few minutes, listening for even the smallest indication of a presence near the room. The silence was welcoming to him, bringing him comfort in a time he needed it most. For the first time since returning home he could relax.

Glancing again at the door, and chancing that his coast was clear, Scott sat up and lifted himself from the bed. This was hardly a time to rest.

He took note of his surroundings, soaking in the colour of the walls, the dimensions of the room and the fine touches of details that personalised the spaces. Spying a desk at one side, he marched over to it and began to furiously open draws and rifle through papers. He was searching for clues, answers to his many questions inside his head that cried out to be answered.

Something, _anything_, that told him who he was.

The first thing he found of worth was his passport, identifying him as one _'Tracy; Scott Carpenter'_ – _who on Earth names their child 'Carpenter'?_ he mused – with his age to be thirty-three years. The photograph was plain – a simple pose, with eyes that stared out beyond the camera. The back of the plastic card contained his fingerprint and retinal information within a narrow black strip – none of it he could access, not that he needed to.

Setting the card aside, the next item was his driver's licence. Again, his name was printed on the front, along with a more recent picture to one side. His date-of-birth was listed as April 4th, 2035, and his nationality as American. At least his accent was accurate, he mused. Apart from that, the license contained no extra information, so it, too, was discarded.

Among the many papers littered across the desktop, he found snippets of details concerning his family. Pictures of the brothers – Virgil and John he recognised, but he remembered a mention of two younger brothers – Gordon and… Alan, was it? He assumed they were the redhead and younger blond man he could see in the pictures. Hand-written papers, along with certificates and magazines, were simply pushed aside during his intensive search.

Soon exhausting the desk of its resources, he moved to the bookcase and began scanning the books and holodiscs for their titles, whereupon he was struck with a sudden idea. Quickly scanning the room, it didn't take long for his eyes to land on the desired object.

The tablet was very compact, no larger than his hand, with all the usual fingerprint security embedded on the front. The tablet's jet black colouring was a complete contrast to the rest of the room, save for the television, which was also black. The screen sprang to life at his touch, and welcomed him with a plain home screen and a basic wallpaper covered in clouds. The little gadget would surely contain everything he needed and more.

This is where the fun started.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Virgil hadn't neglected his word, which was why he had returned downstairs to the medical bay to find his friend. As he'd suspected, Brains was still at the computer, frantically typing away at the keyboard and paying little attention to his surroundings. It wasn't until Virgil cleared his throat that the young scientist looked up to seek the source of the sound.

"Virgil, hello! I d-didn't hear you enter." A nervous smile complimented the statement.

The guy was the most intelligent man Virgil had ever met. Brains could outsmart many of the most advanced computers because he had built them, yet he still found it hard to just 'be himself' – to relax, and let his mind switch to stand-by for once. Brains always seemed to be busy working on one project or another, feeding his fascination in science or engineering to the point of saturation. And even then he didn't stop.

"Hi, Brains," Virgil replied, leaning on the doorframe with folded arms. "I've come to give you a hand with your project, as you asked." Brains waited as the computer he worked at bleeped a few times to signal the completion of its analysis.

"Oh, I d-didn't expect to see you s-s-so soon," Brains stammered. "I thought you'd want to stay with, ah S-Scott."

"To be honest, I did, but he seemed to want to be on his own for a while. Get some much earned rest." Virgil's head bowed towards his arms, avoiding Brains' gaze.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" The absence of his stutter meant Brains was confident with his assessment. When his friend didn't deny it, it was only further proof he was right. Brains hadn't expected anything less.

"Can I ask you something, Brains?"

"C-certainly, Virgil. Ask me anything."

"Is it possible that a head injury such as Scott's can cause amnesia, or some other type of brain injury?"

"_A-Amnesia_?" Brains parroted, not in disbelief or shock at the suggestion, but in mere intrigue. He knew Virgil wasn't the type to put forward suggestions if he didn't have a very good reason to. "Why do you suspect amnesia? Is it s-s-something Scott has said or, uh, d-done? Or rather, _h-hasn't_?"

"A little of everything, actually." Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his hair in frustrated thought. "Well…" he paused, gathering his somewhat scattered thoughts. "Earlier, while we were talking, about your diagnosis, Scott seemed to stumble over your name – as though he had to think what it was." Virgil began to chew his lip in thought. "I know that's nothing in and of itself, but that's not all that's happened. John mentioned Scott seemed confused as to how to operate or move Mobile Control after we'd completed our last rescue. And then I keep… I have a feeling, a suspicion, deep down inside, that there's something he's not telling me. There's something he's trying to hide."

Something inside nagged Virgil about his brother. A heavy feeling of reluctance sank to the depths of his thoughts. He hated such a feeling, that his brother wasn't being open with him, and even so much as distrusted him.

"I checked him over, V-Virgil. I didn't find anything t-t-to suggest any problems, though I, uh, suppose it c-c-could be possible. I think the, ah, best thing you can d-do is let him sleep. He'll be fine in the, ah, m-morning. But thank you for letting me, uh know. I should keep an eye on him, for, ah, now."

At long last there was the start of a hint of a genuine smile appearing on Virgil's face, reaching his eyes. He felt a little reassured, knowing Brains wouldn't say such things if he held any doubt whatsoever. Besides, he knew Brains was never any good at lying.

Sucking in a deep breath, Virgil answered, "Yeah, you're right. Just my sixth sense going haywire again."

Brains nodded, and then an uncomfortable silence began to ensue. Wanting to distract from the previous path of conversation, Virgil asked, "So… What's this project you wanted my help with? I'm curious to know what it is that's so 'top secret'."

Brains' eyes lit up with excitement. "My p-p-project – of course. Well, it's ah…it's not been tested yet, but I'm, ah…well, c-c-come and look at what I've got so, uh, so far."

With determination in his step, Brains led the way from the medical bay to one of his numerous laboratories, scattered with various chemicals, mechanical parts and schematics for new designs. It was a somewhat organised mess of electronics, symbols and notes only the brilliant scientist could fully understand and appreciate.

At the opposite side of the room, Brains gestured his friend over to a black box that sat atop the workbench. It was no larger than a matchbox, and had a smooth, polished surface that imitated the feel of baby skin. With care, he handed the box to Virgil, who rotated it in his hands as he examined the piece.

Apart from a small touch screen on the front, the box was as blank and expressionless as an empty canvas. "What is it, Brains?" he asked, mild intrigue colouring his voice.

Without a word of reply, the creator touched a switch on the side of the instrument. The processor of the little box sprang to life, a screen of multiple colours flashing by as its operating system loaded. Millions of pixels joined to form distinct shapes and words for the artist, who watched in quiet interest. Once the mini-computer had finished, all that flashed on screen was a small window, with minimal words and a flashing cursor requesting a command.

The first requested command was intriguing: '_Please enter designated data for erasure'_, followed by a second, requesting '_Any associated variables'_. At the bottom of the screen were two touch buttons - one to confirm the data entered, and one to clear anything that had been entered.

Brains' grin widened as he watched Virgil's face contort into even further confusion. He threw a curious look in Brains' direction, waiting for an explanation. The scientist was only too eager to explain. "It's what I've c-called a 'Neurological Enhancer of Memory Operations'."

"Neurological Enhancer…?" Virgil lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

"N.E.M.O. – or, as you m-might prefer, 'no one', in L-Latin."

"What does this NEMO do, exactly?"

Brains took the tiny computer from Virgil's hands. "NEMO has the ability to, effectively, _erase_ m-memory traces in the, ah…in the brain." Brains was on a roll – his stammer had almost disappeared.

Virgil's eyes widened, impressed. "Erase memory traces? I didn't think that was possible."

"Well, I'm n-not a qualified psychologist, nor a n-n-neurosurgeon, but I, ah, have been researching into the p-p-possibility for a while, now. There." he finished, as he completed typing in the controls. He turned the screen around to face Virgil, so he could see the additions made. For the first command, Brains had entered 'NEMO' as the data to be erased. As for the 'associated variables', he had entered 'none'.

This was all far from aiding in clearing Virgil's understanding, but it heightened his curiosity levels.

Brains turned his attention to something on the worktop behind him. Pulling out a long length of wire, he dragged it through his hand until he found the connector, and plugged it into a tiny port on the side of the device. Retrieving the opposite end of the wire, Virgil's eyes began to widen in wonder as he saw two small, metal pads, each attached to a sticky plastic backing. They looked like electrodes used in hospitals, to connect a patient to a heart monitor.

"Allow me to d-d-demonstrate. N-Now don't worry, Virgil. This, ah, won't hurt." Brains reassured. Virgil could do no more than take his word.

With a gentle touch Brains applied each of the pads to Virgil's temples, applying a little pressure to ensure they were stuck in place. Virgil felt like a guinea pig, minus the cage.

"Are you r-r-ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," the stocky young man replied. He was holding his ground, not knowing what to expect.

A quick tap of a button, and the computer set to work. Brains watched as it processed the input. Virgil could feel a soft tingle on his skin where the electrodes touched. Watching the screen, a strange sensation began to cloud his mind. He studied the device with interest, noting the flicker of the monitor as the electrical activity in his brain was measured. The amplitude of the various brain waves spiked and dipped, frantically dancing up and down across the screen. Virgil watched on, almost expecting music to be heard, as though the spikes represented sound waves. Then, in the blink of an eye, he felt his mind suddenly empty itself of any information pertaining to the identity of the tiny computer.

NEMO gave a high-pitched bleep to signal the completion of its task. The tingling on Virgil's skin abruptly stopped.

"Th-There, it's finished," Brains announced, his smile broadening. Looking into Virgil's eyes, he saw the tiny flicker of confusion beginning to grow. Reaching up to the electrodes, the scientist carefully peeled them away, leaving a faint ring of a rash where the adhesive had been.

"How d-do you, ah, feel?" he asked his friend. At first Virgil frowned, feeling no different to how he had felt before.

He shrugged. "Fine. I don't feel any different." He expected Brains to be disappointed that the experiment had seemed to fail, but instead Brains was happy with his answer as he picked up his notebook.

"That's g-good. Now, tell me, V-Virgil – what day is it today?"

That was an easy answer to give. "Thursday. Thursday 29th November."

"Excellent. A-and what did you have for, uh breakfast?"

"Some toast, eggs and coffee, like I usually do."

"Good. Everyday memory still a-appears to be, uh, intact." Brains made a note of the observation in his notebook. "Finally, Virgil – can you, ah, tell me what this d-d-device is called?" He held the black box out in front of him. Virgil cocked his head to one side, looking at the computer and wondering what these questions were meant to prove.

"Sure. It's called…erm, it's the…er…" He fumbled for the name, but it wouldn't come. He frantically searched through his memory banks for the elusive information, but nothing surfaced. He knew he had _known_ the name. He could describe the object in perfect detail – it's size, the look of the touch screen, even the font used for the command lines. He had a 'tip-of-the-tongue' gut feeling the information was just out of his reach, but it all eluded him.

The name failed to come.

"I can't remember. I…I can't even remember what letter it begins with." Virgil stuttered. At last he had to smile. Brains had proven his point, and in such style too.

"I-I-I think the word you are, uh, looking for, is N-NEMO."

Even after Brains had told him the word, Virgil shook his head, doubting himself that he had known it. It was as though he had made no association of the name with the device in Brains' hands. Like a computer file, the data had been sent to the recycling bin and emptied for good.

"You mean…you mean you erased the name from my memory? By simply attaching those electrodes?" Virgil was awestruck.

"Y-Y-Yes, although it's a little m-more complicated, uh, than that. You see, the brain works via el-electrical impulses. These, ah, impulses are used t-t-to send m-messages. Every electrical i-i-impulse r-r-represents a different thought or neurological process such, uh, such as the formation of words, pictures, or sounds. Each of your b-body's five senses uses these e-e-electrical impulses to alert your, ah, brain of external s-stimuli.

"What this c-c-computer does," Brains continued, pointing to said computer, "is read your thoughts, effectively. It, ah, interprets the impulse that r-r-represents the required information, which in th-this case was the word 'NEMO'. It, ah, then sent an e-electrical pulse through the electrodes, into your brain to, in e-e-effect, instruct your, ah, brain to f-f-forget the information."

Virgil nodded slowly, Brains' explanation beginning to make sense. "So what you're saying, Brains, is that NEMO imitated an electrical signal to wipe the information from my memory?"

"That's, ah, correct."

"It knows when I'm thinking of the word NEMO? It knew how my brain encoded the information?"

"Y-Yes. Every electrical impulse c-can be interpreted depending on the, ah, frequency and amplitude of the impulses." Brains was proud of himself, like a parent seeing his child succeed at their chosen goal. Virgil's expression was priceless.

Brains handed the computer back to Virgil. Virgil shook his head in disbelief, rotating the tiny flat machine in his hand. "That's amazing, Brains, it really is. But why all the secrecy? I mean, this is a marvellous invention. Why hide it?"

"I'm a-afraid of the re-re-repercussions it may, ah, have," Brains answered, the big 'but' plucking itself from his tone. "You could, uh, effectively er-erase a person's entire memory with it." He sighed, knowing the machine was going to be another of his many inventions that he couldn't show to the world. He understood the need for secrecy, but a tiny part of him couldn't help but be disappointed that he couldn't share it with the whole of humanity without the fear of it causing chaos and destruction, should it fall into the wrong hands.

Virgil sensed his friend's disappointment. "There must be some way we can use it within International Rescue. I mean, it could be used to protect our secrecy, though I'm not sure how we'd explain the 'sticking the electrodes to a person's skull' routine."

Brains nodded. "P-Possibly. I would have to, ah, have a talk with your f-f-father first, about the, uh, matter."

"Dad would definitely love to hear about this."

Virgil noticed the lack of enthusiasm in his friend's face. He knew Brains was fond of his inventions and wasn't one who demanded compliments. But every now and again, as any other habitant on the island appreciated, he needed to know his work was worthwhile.

"Brains," Virgil placed a gentle hand on his shoulder in emphasis. "You might not be able to astound the world with your inventions – though nobody is stopping you from ever doing that – but we all appreciate the help and dedication you give to I.R. Dad especially, since if it wasn't for you neither the Thunderbirds nor International Rescue would even exist. I know sometimes you feel unacknowledged for the work you do, but we really appreciate it, honestly. Have a talk with Dad – he'd be willing to listen."

He looked into the soft, blue eyes of the scientist stood before him. Brains was touched by the sincerity of Virgil's words. Peering into gentle pools of hazel, Brains couldn't help but smile, knowing it was what he needed to hear from time to time.

"Th-Thanks, Virgil. Th-That means a lot t-t-to me." What Brains did next caught Virgil off-guard. He opened his arms, and embraced his friend in a hug. Brains was never one to show his emotions, hence why he kept his fondness for Tin-Tin to himself. Alan was unaware of such affection, and so too were the rest of the Tracy clan – Jeff included. Kyrano, however, knew differently. Though he never talked of the topic, he was only too aware of the scientist's secret crush on his daughter.

At first Virgil didn't comply, a little surprised to be receiving such an embrace. But then his reservation dissolved, and he warmly returned the gesture.

Pulling apart, the two friends smiled once more, before embarrassment began to settle on Brains' face, uncomfortable with the silence. "W-W-W-Well, I'd, ah, b-b-better g-get back to, uh, w-work. Th-Thank you for y-y-your h-help, ah, Virgil." he stumbled, his cheeks beginning to tint with a pink glow.

Virgil couldn't help but grin at Brains' enhanced stutter. "Any time, Brains. I'm here for you _any_ time."


	6. Reflections

**Chapter 5: Reflections**

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed in his head, knocking in time like a metronome as the seconds ticked on by. The sounds were fuzzy, distorted, bouncing against each corner of his mind like a tennis ball.

It felt like a volcano was erupting in his head.

Groggy eyes opened, allowing the artificial light of a nearby lamp to filter through his pupils. At first, the shapes were warped; the light casting a dim glow around the outlines. A black blob wobbled in front of him, some of the details, including colour, slow to announce themselves to him.

His eyes finally began to show signs of adjusting to the light, not that it helped. Nothing of what he could see made any sense to him, so he closed them again.

He could hear a mumbling voice near to his face; a cold whisper in a tongue he couldn't even identify, let alone understand. When he didn't respond accordingly to what he could only assume to be a request, the voice began to grow increasingly impatient.

He had World War III raging in his head, he didn't need –

A loud thud nearby shook him alert. Throwing his eyes open – far too quickly for his brain, forcing him to squint – he saw the quivering handle of a hunting knife, having been stabbed into the wooden table beside him with considerable force.

Hovering above him, his eyes met those of a madman. A man with a grin that promised of torture and pain – all at his pleasure.

"It is time you woke," the greasy gorilla announced, his grin turning into a smirk. "I thought I was going to have to start hurting you with this knife."

Rotten teeth bared, the gorilla rubbed a thoughtful hand over the stubble on his chin. Who was this barbarian?

The prisoner tried to move his hands, but they felt like lead weights. Glancing down, he noted the old wooden chair on which he sat, his arms bound behind him with what felt like rope, cutting into his wrists with every movement.

They had made sure he would not escape, whoever 'they' were.

The cloud of confusion fogging his mind had evaporated, and he began to study the room surrounding him. It was the smallest cabin he had seen, with walls built of large sturdy logs and mud. An ancient oil lamp swung from the rafter fixed in the centre of the ceiling, casting an eerie circular glow. The furnishings were sparse but purposeful. Upon the table sat a box of midnight colour, containing what appeared to be medical supplies – pressurised syringes, vials of unknown drugs, and numerous packets, their purpose unknown also.

Another room split off to the side – to his left – where a heavy, iron stove could just be seen. A chair completed the furnishings in the adjoining room, connected by a hollow doorway. There were holes, indicating were the door had originally been attached to the frame, now propped up against the wall.

His captor marched away from him as he pulled something from his pocket. Turning back to his hostage, the man exposed a smooth, deadly looking weapon to the light. Even under such poor light, the gun metal shined with power, reflecting a lethal glimmer.

He kept his breathing steady, feeling the masking tape over his mouth tighten as his face drew closed. The henchman smiled, taking in the look of contempt on his captive's face.

"Do not worry, my friend. My orders are you live – _for now_, at least." His thick Eastern-European accent wrapped around his words like a snake. "You behave, and I treat you well." With a menace, he stroked the side of his prisoner's head with the gun, tracing the contours of his cheek. Both threw each other icy glares, daring their opponent to back down first.

For a minute the stares held, until the guard stepped away. A rush of breath against the tape signalled the prisoner's relief. He tried to wriggle his hands from the bonds that held him, but they were too tight, beginning to cut off the circulation to his fingers. Cramp began to worm its way down his left arm, forcing him to abandon his attempt to break free.

With a low scowl, he watched the guard step back away from him, back into the shadows to watch him.

"You have his eyes, but there is no evil there." The statement was meant to unnerve him, rock his confidence that his situation was indeed dire. Instead it just left him confused as to just what it meant. 'His' eyes?

All alone and with no clue as to where he was – or even if anyone else knew where he was – the situation was certainly worse than dire. And there was nothing he could do.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Nothing.

No personal pictures, videos, links to social websites. Not even a contact number for a close, personal friend.

There was nothing to be found on the tablet he had found.

He slammed a hand on the desk, petulance getting the better of him. Another idea scuppered, another denial of access.

He had no idea what the information could be, could look like. It could be staring him in the face, there and then, and he wouldn't know. Somewhere in the room he now occupied.

So far the master plan had worked to perfection. He had infiltrated the ranks, joined the team on the inside, and none of them were even aware he was there.

Right in front of their eyes.

Flopping onto the bed, he sighed to disperse the stress from his body, but he needed something more. Pushing his body further onto the bed, he raised his legs and folded them into a crossed position. Holding his hands out, he began his silent meditation.

He felt the pull of the skin surrounding the area of the cut on his temple. He smiled in delight – a small price to pay to gain such an opportunity to gain his ultimate prize.

He had planned it so well. The set up of the cave; the placing of the two men inside, and then the setting of the small charges to create the effect of the rockslide. It could not have been executed any better.

A simple set up, with weeks of planning and days of preparation to ensure success. The two 'cavers' had been essential. He knew International Rescue had the thermal imaging technology to aid in their finding of the trapped. He had been kind enough to only drug them with Zolpidem, the drug working in a matter of seconds to send his captives to sleep.

Sleeping was their only part in his master plan.

He had waited, watching from afar as two of the rescuers headed underground to the tunnel. One remained behind, taking control of the situation from the surface.

He had been his ideal target.

He instinctively reached into his pocket for the bejewelled copper band he carried, a soothing comfort rising from its presence. He could feel its power surge through the metal, into his body, a sense of vitality gushing through his black veins.

He would need to utilise this power, if he were to unlock the secrets he was after.

Again he felt the twitch of skin at the side of his temple and winced. He shuffled off the bed and stepped into the bathroom to examine his wound. It was small and blotchy with lilac bruising, and it ached all the same. The skin glue held firm, preventing infection and any further bleeding. But the cut still smarted.

Damn him, the fool! Why couldn't he have gone down straight away? It would have saved them both a lot of pain.

He stole a hard, long stare at the face in the mirror, stroked his new chin in appreciation. The new owner was extremely pleased to see such features encase his evil genius, if only temporarily.

International Rescue was so predictable in answering his call for help. The actor within him had risen to the challenge, and had answered supremely. Stepping up behind the field commander, he had almost surprised his enemy and taken him before he could react. But his approach had been heard, snow crushing underfoot with each step. For a brief moment icy blue eyes had levelled with his bright amber ones, defying him to attack.

So he had.

Grabbing the arm in a forceful grip, Belah's power had overwhelmed the field commander's, striking him with a supernatural force. Ancient ritual defied science in that moment, as in one powerful step the Hood's essence had fed into Scott's body.

Belah no longer inhabited his body, but that of an International Rescue operative.

The Hood's initial shock had been suppressed by the greater need to disable his foe, who now inhabited his familiar stocky body. Pouncing to reach the pocket of his parka – the parka on his original body, that was – he'd hurried to retrieve the pressurised syringe filled with the barbiturate. The I.R. man, now in Belah's body, had little time to recover his thoughts before the attack came.

In partial shock, 'Scott's' body's reflexes kicked in before his mind had time to gather any semblance of control. His eyes only saw the needle heading towards him, forefront to a sneering face. He hadn't recognised the face as his own, just the threat it posed.

Scott had begun to retreat, trying to find leverage in the slippery snow. His fingers had brushed against a solid, rough object and had wrapped themselves around it with a vice-like grip.

That was where Belah's plan had taken an unplanned diversion. With a half-weakened swing, Scott had utilised some control in his new body, and had thrown his hand forward, bringing the fist-sized rock down hard onto Belah's temple with a sickening thud.

The left side of his head exploded with a fiery pain, cutting open the skin and exposing it to the cold air. The force of the blow had knocked Belah off balance, throwing him into the snow on his side. His anger escaped as a cry of blind fury. He was filled with blood-red rage, and, coupled with the added agility of his new body, he lunged and stabbed the needle into Scott's arm, releasing its contents.

Within seconds, his enemy had gone down for the count, his arms spread wide as he fell into the snow, unconscious on his back.

Belah had looked on in relief, the shock of the unexpected blow beginning to seep from his body in shaky breaths. He took a moment to steady himself, the cold air turning his breaths to a fine mist.

He'd gingerly reached a hand up to take a firm hold of the edge of the mobile computer beside him. With a grunt, he'd hauled himself into a standing position, his head protesting at the movement. Just as a voice crackled from the speakers.

"_Virgil to Mobile Control…"_

He'd jerked his head at the sound. _"– we're through to the tunnel where the cavers are trapped. No sign of –"_

And just like that, the voice had cut off, leaving him to wonder if the signal had died or if he had pressed a button by mistake. A small panic had begun to seep into his mind, fearing the other I.R. operatives were on their way back already.

He had to move the body – or rather, _his_ body – quickly.

The cabin had been prepared for the prisoner, and his guards hired to do their job and keep watch. At this very moment, as he stood in Scott's bedroom with his thoughts, his 'friend' would be waking to find himself tied up and gagged, his special guest.

Out in the middle of nowhere, with no one to rescue him.

The frequently-asked question – who would rescue the rescuer? He snorted softly in amusement.

Glancing back at his arm, Belah noted the chronometer that sat there, quite silent, counting the time pass by.

Back at the faked rescue, as they had been moving Belah's unconscious form to the hidden cabin, the chronometer on his wrist had begun to vibrate. Should he answer? He was, after all, now the newly-appointed field commander of International Rescue, and giving the orders.

He had decided not to, uncertain his acting skills could take him so far. Besides, the other I.R. operatives would soon return, and he didn't want to risk his plan being uncovered at such an early stage.

Now finally he was here, disguised as a member of International Rescue – the most secretive organisation in the world. He had infiltrated all security barriers without a hint of suspicion. He had walked past everyone, with hardly an eyebrow raised. Of course the two operatives at the rescue had had their suspicions, but he was confident he could convince them his confusion had been nothing to worry about.

Now, it was his time. He was ready to expose to the world just who International Rescue was, and bring them down for good.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Time.

He had no idea just how much time had passed in this dimly-lit prison of his. Judging from the light outside and the temperature of the room, his best guess could only be mid to late afternoon.

The shadows began to dance their menacing steps, reminding him he was not alone. How long had he been here? Did his family even realise he was missing?

Peering hard into the shadows, Scott could just see the brute of a guard watch him with intent. A match lit up his face for a few seconds as it was ignited, illuminating the glow of wickedness in his eyes that unsettled Scott. The brute continued to smile as he lit his cigarette, not a word passing his lips; none needed to be said.

As indiscreet as he could manage, Scott began a sweep of the room for anything that would aid his escape.

He only needed to get rid of the goon for a minute or two, but how, he could not figure. Sitting in the darkness opposite, his guard was happy enough to lean back in his chair and watch.

The guard was well suited to hiding in the shadows, his black attire camouflaging him perfectly. His unkempt hair and two-day-old stubble told Scott this guy cared nothing for his appearance, preferring instead to focus more on the practical side of his duties.

Scott could feel his own stubble under the adhesive of the tape plastered over his mouth. It was uncomfortable to say the least – every little movement caused the adhesive to pull at the tiny hairs in his face.

The sound of a radio crackling to life made him jump, tearing him away from his current thoughts. He hadn't noticed the radio before, attached to the guard's waist on his belt. The guard's attention didn't move at first, ignoring the call on the radio to presumably report his position. But when it did, without dragging his eyes away from his captive, he pulled the handheld radio – looking very much like an ancient, chunky walkie-talkie – to his lips and began to speak in a foreign tongue.

The exchange was short and simple. Returning the radio to his belt, the guard shuffled on his seat to find a comfy position again, before resuming his vigil. His intimidating eyes were showing no effect on Scott.

Yet.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Gordon was very engrossed in the game, watching his opponent with a keen eye not dissimilar of that of a lion hunting its prey.

With a self-assured move, he lifted the piece and placed it in its new position.

"Check!" he called out with pleasure, clapping his hands together in applause. He was curious to see how his rival would answer that.

In one swift motion his opponent did just that, lifting the queen over to Gordon's piece, and removing it from the board.

"That-is-check-mate," the computerised voice of Braman announced, leaving his human challenger with an open jaw in surprise. A rather premature applause, it would seem.

"What?! No way! I had your king right there with my knight! Two more moves, and I would've had you!" The twenty-five year-old ran both hands through his hair in wild disbelief. It was bad enough losing to his brothers, but a _robot_…?

"Gordon, Braman is a state-of-the-art piece of technology. I don't think it's going to find chess a particularly difficult prospect, _especially_ when Brains programmed him." Jeff spoke, not lifting his head from the paperwork spread across his desk.

"But Dad…he's…I mean…Oh, it's not fair!" The red-head threw his hands into the air in defeat, surrendering to the fact he had been beaten for the fourth time that afternoon by the robot. "Surely I'm not _that_ bad!"

Jeff laughed with a hearty laugh. "No, you're not that bad, Gordon. Besides, it'll do you good to have some extra prac-"

He was interrupted by the flashing eyes Alan's portrait. It was the emergency sequence, to which everyone's chronometer began vibrating.

Jeff opened the line. "Go ahead, Alan. What's the emergency?"

"_I'm afraid it's a flooding, Father, in northwest Columbia, South America. A village has been swamped after the local river burst its banks. Rescue services are unavailable to attend for at least a few hours, since they're already dealing with other flooded areas and mudslides."_

During his debrief, Virgil and John had joined them in the lounge, catching the very end of the details.

"Thanks Alan. Okay, Scott off –" Jeff halted, suddenly noting the absence of his eldest. Turning to his present sons, he queried, "Where's Scott?"

Virgil was the only one to offer a response. "Scott's in his room, catching up on his sleep. Leave him be, Dad, he needs rest. I don't think it'd be a good idea for him to be out on a rescue right now."

Jeff agreed with Virgil's assessment. "I suppose not. In that case, John you can take charge of Thunderbird One, and Mobile Control. Off you go. Alan will send you the co-ordinates once you are airborne."

"F.A.B." John headed for the portrait that allowed him access to Thunderbird One's silo, taking hold of the lights and feeling a brief disorientation as he was swung around.

"Virgil, you'll need the heavy equipment, as well as the Mole and the Excavator. Gordon, go with him." Jeff's orders were clear and concise, spoken with a sturdy tone of authority mastered through experience. His sons obeyed without question, each heading to their designated exits with practiced speed.

"_Tracy Island, this is Tracy One requesting permission to land,"_ an unexpected female voice called from the speakers behind Jeff's seat. He quickly spun around to answer the request.

"Tracy One, this is Base. Permission to land is _denied_, Tin-Tin. Thunderbird Two is due to launch in a few minutes. Please circle the island until I contact you, once the runway is clear."

"_Message received and understood, Mr. Tracy. Tracy One standing by."_ The brief crackle of static was closed as Jeff ended the transmission. Thunderbird One's rockets had been fired, and the reconnaissance ship gracefully took to the sky once again for the second time that afternoon.

Jeff could only imagine how his sons were feeling. He knew inside he was mentally exhausted, after taking charge of the avalanche rescue in the early hours of the morning. He stifled a yawn, hoping his mind would place his tired thoughts to one side so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

If Scott was suffering from exhaustion, he wondered how long it would be before his other sons would begin to show symptoms too. Fortunately Scott had fainted whilst on the ground. _He could have been flying when he collapsed. _ _He could have been injured far worse than a blow to the head, _Jeff noted with a slight anxiety._ They all need a break as soon as this troubled period is over._

In the background, the hydraulics of the ramp sounded as the mighty Thunderbird Two was elevated to its required 45-degree angle. With a loud, sharp blast its engines fired, powering the supersonic carrier towards the clear skies.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

His arm began to vibrate again, as it had done out in Canada. Staring at the chronometer, he watched as it shook intermittently, demanding attention. Soon the vibration stopped, leaving him in the silence of the room with his thoughts once more.

He studied the object, noting the various buttons around the outline of the glass casing. His thoughts were shattered as a thunderous blast reverberated around the room, into his head. Rushing forward towards the balcony doors, he threw them open to a blast of fresh sea breeze. He ran to the railing, looking over in astonishment as the silver jet rocketed by him into the sky.

Belah watched the craft, recognising it as the one he had travelled to the island in a few hours previously. Red hot flames gushed from the engines, causing a powerful gust of heated air to ruffle his hair.

A malicious smile turned his lips. He was witnessing a sight only the island's habitants had ever seen. But not for long.

Thunderbird One was no longer visible on the horizon by the time her sister ship was prepared for launch. Watching in fascination, Belah soaked up every detail of the green carrier ship – her striking reversed wings, her white symbols identifying her as the second Thunderbird craft of the fleet.

He watched the 'bird take flight, her bulk rising into the cerulean, sun-filled skies to head for the next disaster site. Within a minute Thunderbird Two was just a distant speck above the ocean, disappearing from view.

With at least two of the members out on call, Belah realised this would be a perfect opportunity. Closing the balcony doors behind him, he stood still and listened for any indication of movement near the room. He heard the footsteps walk down the hallway towards his room, urging him to get back into the bed.

Throwing the covers aside, he jumped in and held his body still. A bleep from the other side of the door confirmed his suspicions.

The door pulled back to reveal the face of Jeff Tracy, his dull speckled hair smoothed back from where he had run a hand through. A paternal smile curved his lips as he watched the figure on the bed sleep soundly, captured in what he believed to be pleasant dreams. Creeping to Scott's side, he placed a cup of water and two small pills by his bedside.

"In case you have a headache, when you wake." He whispered, more to himself rather than the peaceful form below him. Brushing a loose strand away from his son's face – his touch speaking hundreds of words of adoration and love – his gentle words whispered, "Peaceful dreams, Scott."

For a few moments longer his eyes watched him rest, before he slowly backed away to the door to leave his son in peace.

Once his visitor had left, Belah peeked open an eye to make sure all was clear. He was alone again.

Jumping back into action, he returned to the desk to retrieve an object he had seen earlier. Finding it, he shoved it into his pocket and headed to the door, pausing to check no one was standing outside. Pressing a finger to the keypad released the door, and with one final visual check that the corridor was clear, he left the room behind.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Silence filled the cabin like dense smoke, choking the atmosphere. Scott's muscles were shaking from the bitter cold, trying to provide heat through friction. But the air wasn't the coldest thing in that room. His icy stare, directed towards the man across the room, could freeze water from a hundred feet away.

"You hate me, yes?" The guard smirked, pleased he was beginning to have an effect on his prisoner. "I like honest men."

Scott's scowl drew even deeper, crushing the muscles in his forehead, pulling shadows over his now hazel eyes.

The guard soon lost interest with his companion, instead seeking for the cigarette packet crumpled in his pocket. Retrieving said item, his face produced a frown at discovering it was empty. He scrunched it up into a ball and threw it across the room.

He mumbled a curse, then stood on his feet and headed out of the room. Scott watched, moving only his eyes, until the man had left. Out of sight, Scott hurriedly began to try and remove the tape from across his mouth. He rubbed the grey tape against his shoulder to loosen its hold. Bit by bit, it began to peel away.

It wasn't long before he heard the returning footsteps. Pressing the tape lightly, putting it back into place, the prisoner straightened his back against the back of the seat and replaced his scowl. The guard glanced over, then returned to his place across the room.

Every breath released a mist of heat, the air was so cold. Scott snorted through his nose, watching his guard shiver but trying his hardest to hide the fact. To Scott, the man was nothing more than putty in his hands.

Giving Scott a stern look, the man held back an angry retort as he once again left the room to make himself a drink.

It was the opportunity Scott needed.

Once again he started to rub his shoulder, only this time he wriggled his mouth to break free of the adhesive strip. Slowly but surely it started to peel from one side, until eventually half of the tape had loosened. He licked part of his dry, cracked lips, feeling the moisture bring welcomed comfort, tasting remnants of glue from the tape. He didn't want to pull the tape completely off, just yet.

In the back room where the guard was, a kettle began to boil. Scott figured he didn't have long.

As quietly as possible, he shuffled the chair closer to the table, towards the knife that had been stabbed into the wood earlier, in an attempt at intimidation. What a foolish thing to do.

Reaching the waist-high table, he turned sideways and leaned over. With the exposed part of his mouth, he reached over to the knife, and seized hold of the handle with his teeth. A shift of his mouth, to increase his grip, and then he pulled.

The knife was wedged in place, hardly giving way. Rocking his body, the blade eventually began to shift, splintering the wood surrounding the tip. With a mighty heave, the knife was freed, and with strained delicacy he laid it onto the table top – the handle overhanging the edge slightly.

In the other room, the guard helped himself to some coffee and a mug.

Shuffling further forward, Scott reached out with stretched fingers until he could feel the knife shift at his touch. With care he took hold, grasping the wood of the handle with a locked grip to ensure he wouldn't drop it.

Twisting the knife, he began to cut through the rope around his wrists.

The kettle began to rumble as the water bubbled within.

He awkwardly slashed at the rope, feeling his arms drop slightly as it began to give way. Strand after strand frayed, then snapped with the stress.

The kettle whistled, a crescendo to a high pitch that ceased when the kettle was removed from the stove.

More strands snapped until he could finally feel his arms separate from the bonds.

The guard poured the scolding water into the mug – cracked with age – and stirred the contents. Taking hold of the handle, he returned to the doorway, tracing his eyes over to his captive and stopped abruptly in his tracks at what he saw.

His hands still tied behind his back, the tape over his mouth still firmly in place; Scott threw the dirtiest of looks straight at the goon across the room.

Said goon never noticed the absence of his knife.

An evil smile lifted the guard's lips as he removed the gun from his belt.

"Do not look at me like that, my friend, else you might lose an eye." For emphasis he pointed the gun barrel at Scott's head.

To his credit, Scott never flinched.

The guard turned his back to his prisoner, slipping his gun back under his belt.

That was his cue.

Scott hadn't had time to cut the rope binding his legs together, but he was still able to stand. Carefully adjusting his hold on the knife, he stood from the chair, and twisted himself around to take hold of the chair back. Lifting it over his shoulder, Scott mustered all his strength and swung the weapon at his captor's head.

The wood splintered on impact, throwing shards in every direction. The guard fell to the floor in agony, a red hot glow screaming in his head and between his shoulder blades from the blow. He tried to hold on to consciousness, but his grip slipped, and he instead fell flat onto the floor, limp.

Seeing the guard collapse, Scott hurriedly cut through the rope binding together his ankles. He wasn't sure if the man was unconscious – he preferred not to take the risk.

The rope soon fell apart, allowing Scott to step over to his captor and examine him more closely.

He was out for the count.

Scott's muscles began to protest from the strain he was placing on them. He frowned, wondering what might have happened to him to cause such discomfort. He worked out every day. He'd been in the Air Force for goodness sake – the swing should have been nothing but a walk in the park, so to speak. But he felt like he'd pulled something in his lower back.

Grabbing what was left of the rope, Scott set to work on tying the guard's hands together firmly, behind his back. The bonds secure, he turned the burly man over so that his face was in view. He wasn't much prettier than he had been conscious.

Finding the man's belt, he withdrew the gun and placed it in one of his parka's many pockets…_Wait a minute,_ Scott suddenly realised, taking in his clothes for the first time since he had regained consciousness. _What the hell am I wearing? These aren't my clothes…_ Looking down at his attire, he scrunched up his nose at the black cargos and roll-neck sweater in part disgust. Snow boots finished the look, matching the grey of the sky outside. Where was his I.R. uniform?

Lifting the sleeve, he realised his watch was also missing. He stared at his hands in curiosity. _Are my hands…_bigger_?_ he noted in bewilderment. He stared at them in disbelief, wondering if he was starting to lose his mind somehow.

He looked back to the still body and glanced at the radio. He snatched it up and placed it in another pocket. Searching through the rest of the guard's belongings, he could only find a set of keys – for what they unlocked, he didn't know.

Feeling his legs begin to protest at kneeling for so long, he stood and stretched his back, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window beside him.

His reflection…

He did a retake, staring at the reflection in pure horror.

It wasn't _his_ face he saw. The dark eyes and stubby, round face were not his characteristic features at all.

It was the same face he had seen before being knocked unconscious at the rescue site.

"That's not… It's not possible…" He could only whisper in horror, any possible explanation eluding him. For the first time he had heard his voice – a low, malicious gravelly quality, the complete opposite of what was usually his own intonation.

"What the hell is going on? How is this even possible? Wait a minute… If I'm here, in this body, then who's… Oh hell, no!" His hand flew to his mouth in horror, as realisation hit him harder than bricks. "Tracy Island! He's got to be back at Base, with the guys – I've got to warn them!"

He turned to run for the door, but the crackling of the radio stopped him in his tracks. He froze, statue-still.

A sharp, steady voice called over the radio, demanding an answer. Scott pulled it from his pocket to listen carefully. Static followed, but after a lack of response the voice repeated the question once again. Scott knew he had to leave quickly. The front door was now out of the question.

Switching the tuner to the 'off' position, the radio fell silent. With renewed urgency Scott's brain ran through his plan of action, switching to 'automatic mode' with a click. He knew there was at least another guard nearby, more than likely heading to the cabin to check on his partner.

He reached up for the lamp above his head and unhooked it, and threw it towards the side window, smashing the glass into hundreds of sharp pieces. The tinkle of tiny glass shards echoed around the room, making him cringe at how loud it sounded.

Some larger shards of glass still remained in the window, jutting out at the sides like stalagmites. Grabbing the fractured remains of one of the chair legs, Scott pushed out the remaining glass. His escape now widened, he pulled his legs through the remnants of the window frame. This body was obviously not one to work out regularly as his muscles protested at their mistreatment.

He dropped heavily onto the snow outside. Ducking low, he manoeuvred to the corner of the wall, heading towards the back of the cabin. Like a special ops agent he retrieved the hand gun and stood rigid against the wall, finger poised on the trigger, waiting to see if he had been followed.

All around him, he was surrounded by nothing but a crisp, white blanket. Trees shivered in the icy breeze, their branches powdered with soft snow. The landscape closed and unforgiving to him.

From within the cabin Scott heard the thud of the door as it was kicked open, followed by hurried footsteps of frantic searching.

He had to move quickly.

He had to contact his family and warn them of the danger they were in.

Pushing himself forward, he began a perilous trek through the winter forest to find help. He had to try and stop whoever was behind his attack from discovering International Rescue's secrets. Or worse – from destroying International Rescue once and for all.


	7. Strange Communications

**Chapter 6: Strange Communications**

He thought he was dreaming it all. None of it seemed real to his eyes. But it was all true.

The Hood stood at the end of the corridor, leading to Thunderbird Three's silo. With Thunderbirds One and Two away in operation, this Thunderbird was the next one he had access to.

He took a moment to quell the rumbles of excitement in his stomach. This had been what he had waited so long for, had worked so hard to bring to fruition. It had all worked out to perfection.

Reaching into his pocket, he revealed his secret weapon. The digital camera bleeped once, signalling it was ready for use. On the other side of the door stood the famous red rocket that had rescued the Sun Probe team from incineration. The very rocket that had saved the life of Rick O'Shea, the DJ.

And now the very same rocket that would start to unravel International Rescue's secrets.

He would begin with pictures of each of the rescue machines, both external and internal. Then he would obtain pictures of the blue prints, detailing all the mechanical workings.

Stepping to the motorised door, he placed a shaky finger on the release button, and pressed with glee.

Nothing happened.

With the exception of a faint series of beeps, nothing moved or showed signs of complying with his request. Looking back at the keypad, he pressed the release button again.

Once again, the keypad beeped its series of warnings.

He glanced at the digital display just above the glowing keypad. The words erupted a volcanic rage in his head.

_Enter six-digit password for verification __

"NO! This cannot be happening!" He slammed an angry fist into the side panel. So near, and yet so far.

Gaining access to the code without arousing suspicion wasn't going to be easy. No, he would have to move to more desperate measures, take a few risks.

He felt for the comfort of the bracelet in his pocket. It was the only source of his special powers, such as the power he had used to transfer his spirit into the body he now occupied. Without his own body, this was the only way he had been able to contain a semblance of the black magic he used. No glowing eyes could be used here, but he had other ways around that minute barrier.

Could he…?

Inspiration hit him hard. _Perhaps I could simply _ask_ someone to tell me the code…_

The bracelet only held a fraction of his usual powers, but there was certainly enough for what he had planned. A dirty smile returned at the thought.

Turning away from the steel door that had blocked his entrance, he headed back to the sanctity of his room. He would have to be extremely discreet when using his abilities, but he prepared to wait until the opportunity arose.

After all, he had waited a long time to gain access to International Rescue's secrets. A little more time wouldn't hurt at all.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

A tiny bead of sweat trickled down the side of Virgil's face, and he absently brushed it away. Their work had been gruelling this time, given the village was submerged in a river of mud. They had hurried to the scene as fast as their aircraft would allow; John had preferred to remain in Thunderbird One and oversee the rescue from above, enabling him to direct Thunderbird Two with more accuracy and to remain safe. John was able to pinpoint most of the people trapped, and had even been able to lift some people to safety, where he was able to land to allow them to board.

The flood waters hadn't been gracious to them, ever increasing with the rain that thrashed down on them. The mud had also hampered many of their rescue attempts by making the buildings unstable. By securing lines to the houses from Thunderbird Two, Gordon had undertaken many perilous trips down to retrieve those too terrified to move.

Virgil had used all of his expertise to keep his lady steady as Gordon descended. He was in tune with her every movement, as though they were a single entity. John had managed to keep Thunderbird One under control through the howling winds and pelting rain, but he knew only Scott could handle her with the experienced hand she needed in such treacherous conditions.

"_Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two – how's it going, guys?"_ John's taut expression came through into his voice. He was stressed and exhausted – they all were.

"We're just finishing transporting the last of the survivors to safety. Gordon's lowering them in the cage as we speak. How're you holding up, John?"

Virgil had noted the strain in his immediate younger brother's voice. _"Just fine, though there've been a couple of gusts that caught me unexpectedly. But you know Thunderbird One, she handles like a dream."_

He had to laugh at that response. "Don't let Scott hear you say that – he already has an overinflated ego at the best of times." The good-natured banter was a sign their spirits were lightening as the rescue was being brought to a close.

"_Gordon to Virgil – all passengers are clear. I'm on my way back up."_

Virgil switched his attention to the intercom. "F.A.B. Gordon. See you in a minute." Switching back to John, he continued, "You're not thinking of changing 'birds, are you?"

"_Oh don't worry – I still think Thunderbird Five is my 'queen'. I just don't see how you guys can be so attached to your ship to call them 'queens'."_ He gave a laugh of his own. Secretly he was just as attached to Five, but he wouldn't admit to it.

"You really wouldn't understand, John. And we'd better not go there." Just at that point, Virgil heard the distinctive footsteps of his red headed brother approaching the cockpit. "Hey, Gords," he said aloud, glancing around but keeping most of his attention on the controls in front.

"What's this about referring to our ships as 'queens'?" He flopped into the co-pilot's seat, perspiration glinting at his hairline. He drew a hand over his forehead.

"John is living in denial about wanting to take over as Thunderbird One pilot." Virgil answered; his eyebrows flicked upwards as a playful smile hung from his lips. Sure enough, the expected blast of retort sprang from the communications panel.

"_In your dreams Virgil! You know full well Scott would rather endure Gordon's pranks for a whole year than let me take control of his Thunderbird for anything longer than a day."_ John heard his brothers burst into a fit of laughter at his remarks.

"Johnny, you worry too much! But don't worry, I won't tell Scott about any of this conversation." Gordon sniggered, knowing he was beginning to worry his sibling beyond distraction.

"_You do, and I'll arrange it with Dad to make sure you spend a very lengthy time up in Thunderbird Five...with Alan."_

"Deal." Gordon leaned back in his seat, his mischievous smile broad on his face.

"_I'll keep you to it. All right guys, I don't know about you two, but I'm ready to crash for at least twenty-four hours. I'll see you guys back at Base."_

"F.A.B. John. Catch you back at home. Thunderbird Two out." And with that, Virgil cut the communication.

With gentle persuasion he guided Thunderbird Two towards the direction of home, and settled back for the journey. At first the cabin was filled with quiet contemplation as both brothers took a moment to catch their breath and gather their thoughts. For Virgil, however, the silence had only allowed his worries to resurface, especially after the mention of the eldest of their brood in the brief conversation.

Gordon looked over, noting the pilot's glazed eyes. "Hey Virg, you okay?" He placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder. Virgil was startled from his thoughts by the touch.

"Yeah yeah, sure. I was just thinking, that's all," he stuttered.

"You're worried about something, aren't you?" Gordon was surprisingly astute with his observation. He knew his brother well. "You've had your mind on other things for most of the rescue. What is it, Virg?"

He involuntarily cringed at the use of his nickname, knowing Gordon was concerned to be using it in his question. "I'm just worried about Scott, that's all."

"I know you are – we all are. But you know Scott, he's one tough cookie." He watched his brother give a slow nod in response, not quite convinced. "Why, what's happened? I mean, he is all right isn't he? Brains told me he had a cut to his head, but that was all." Gordon's frown was a rare sight to witness.

"He's doing okay. It's nothing, really. Let's just get home, get out of these sticky clothes and catch some beauty sleep."

Gordon relented, seeing the tired slump of Virgil's shoulders. "You're right – some of us need more beauty sleep than others." He cast a sneaky grin over to the pilot. Gordon was pleased to see the sarcastic grin appear on Virgil's face.

Sitting back for the ride, they completed the rest of the journey occupying their own silent thoughts – the silence only broken by Virgil as he announced their arrival back at Tracy Island.

The landing was as smooth as ever. Backing into the cliff side hangar, Virgil started the post-flight checks – the move an automatic one, having become set in routine like concrete. Gordon watched in curiosity. Virgil's mind seemed to have wandered off the track again.

"I know I'm not nearly as perceptive as you, when it comes to reading people's expressions. But you've had that deep, bothered look on your face all the way home. So something a little more than 'nothing' is on your mind. Spill."

The game appeared to be up. Virgil wondered if the 'shrug-your-shoulders-and-act-like-you-don't-know-what-he's-talking-about' approach would work. He executed said approach, then turned to head for the passenger lift. Gordon followed closely on his heels, not uttering a single word.

That was, until the lift started to take them back to the lounge. It became crystal clear that Virgil couldn't shrug his younger brother off that easily.

"You know something, Virg? Dad could pay to have the finest psychic in the world read Scott's mind, and they wouldn't see half as much as you can." A smile of faint amusement at the analogy made him pause. "Come on, Virgil, I've got my serious face on right now." To emphasise his point he pointed a finger at his neutral expression. "Something's eating you, and I'd like to know if I can help."

The older man gave a small sigh of exasperation, knowing Gordon wasn't going to relent until he opened up something of what was on his mind. "It's just me, I'm sure of it, but… Well, you know when you've got a feeling, deep down, that something isn't right? A nagging feeling in the back of your mind that won't let go?" Gordon nodded, knowing full well what his brother was talking about. "It's just that, ever since we got back from Canada I've had a feeling that Scott's trying to hide something. Maybe something to do with him blacking out, I don't know."

The aquanaut frowned for a moment, mulling the words over. Both men were jolted as the lift came to a halt. They didn't move at first, both caught in the grasp of deep thinking. "What do you think it is he could be hiding?"

"Like I said, it might be something to do with why he blacked out."

"You think he might be embarrassed by the fact he fainted? I mean, you of all people know he doesn't like to show any signs of weakness. Remember that time he had the flu, and he still insisted on going to football practice because the university team had a major league cup match coming up?" Gordon pushed open the lift door, and both men started to head towards the lounge.

"I remember. That practise put him in bed for an extra three weeks. Grandma went crazy. For punishment, she made him go without any of her homemade cookies for a fortnight."

Both brothers grimaced at the memory of their oldest brother, sick with flu. Though at the time they felt pity for Scott being forced to live without Grandma's famous cookies, they'd found his subsequent begging (in the literal 'on-your-knees' sense) one of the most amusing and unforgettable images of their lives. So memorable, in fact, that Gordon still used it as worthy blackmail material as and when he needed.

"I suppose you're right, Gordon. I'm reading too much into things lately."

Gordon lifted an eyebrow, but withheld any humorous remark that sprang to his mind. "If you're really that worried, why don't you go and talk to Dad? Maybe he can help put your mind at ease."

Virgil immediately began to shake his head at the idea. "No, I don't want to do that. Dad's got enough on his mind at the moment, and he's just as tired as we are." Virgil paused outside the lounge, wanting to finish what he was saying without his father overhearing. "But I _will_ talk to someone about it. Tomorrow morning, once I've had a chance to sleep."

"Let me guess – Kyrano?" From Virgil's look of surprise, Gordon knew he was correct. "He'd be my next choice too, after Dad. When it comes to matters on another plane... I don't know what it is, but he seems to understand even the most complex or unusual problems we come up with. It's as though he can read our thoughts. It's kind of _freaky_."

"I know what you mean – " The door to the living area slid open, cutting Virgil off in mid-sentence.

"There you guys are! Dad wants a quick debrief before we all crash for the night. We've been waiting for you." John stated, leaning against the doorframe as he peered out of the room.

Gordon peered over his blonde brother's shoulder to see his father leaning on the edge of his desk, arms folded, waiting patiently. Without further delay all three siblings retreated into the designated control centre of International Rescue, closing the door to the rest of the island home.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

From the looks of all three of his sons, it was apparent that they wouldn't remember much from the debrief. They were half asleep as it was, nodding to everything their father said. It wasn't long before Jeff decided to call the meeting to a close, before one of his sons began to make a point by snoring half way through. With heavy eyelids all three dragged their tired bodies towards their room, their weary bones almost creaking with the effort. They reminded Jeff of Alan's zombie video game.

With a mighty yawn, Gordon brought up the rear of the living dead brigade, only stopping when he passed a door belonging to a certain older brother.

Virgil and John turned to see what was holding up their little brother in his tracks. Gordon hooked a thumb in the direction of the room. "I'm going to check on Scott, then I'll crash for the night. See you two tomorrow, bright and early." John nodded, but Virgil winced. The words 'bright and early' didn't favour with the second eldest, infamous for his love of his bed.

Pointing a knowing finger at the prankster, he warned, "You dare, Gordon. You dare pour water on me and I'll stake you out under Thunderbird Two's engines the next time she takes off." With that, he pressed the button to release the mechanism on his door, and stepped out of sight. "Night, guy, " he called back before the door closed.

John looked to Gordon with a knowing smile. "See, I warned you that would happen. Only Virgil doesn't make his threats lightly."

Gordon lifted a questioning eyebrow. "He'll have to catch me first. Night, John." His wink oozed mischief.

"Night Gordon." And with that, both men parted company.

As quiet as possible, Gordon opened the door to Scott's room – just enough for him to peek inside. He was surprised to see his older brother sat up straight in bed with his legs crossed, wide awake. The last of the sun's orange rays illuminated the room, streaking across Scott's face and dark hair giving him a soft outline.

"Hey, Scott. How are you feeling?" Gordon crept over to the side of the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. He felt it give way under his weight, evened out by Scott's weight in the middle.

Scott didn't reply at first, staring straight ahead into empty space as though his mind was elsewhere. Gordon frowned, watching. He was about to repeat his question when Scott spoke. "I am well… brother."

_Brother? Since when did he start talking like that?_ Gordon felt an uneasy quiver travel down his spine. "Scott, are you all right? Scott…"

The younger was about to reach out and touch the older on his arm, when Scott's hand suddenly flew out and grabbed Gordon's wrist.

"Hey! Scott, what the… hell…" Gordon's speech slurred to a halt. A fog had crept over his mind, throwing his thoughts into hazy view. His head began to pound, as though a sledgehammer was trying to smash its way through his skull. He tried to lift his hands to clutch his head, but Scott's grip on his wrist was tight and refused to budge.

"Sc…Scott…" He felt himself slipping, fighting against the pain. His head was screaming, screaming… Then, in a split second, the pain vanished, leaving behind only the solace of silence.

_You can hear me._

Gordon inwardly flinched from the voice that suddenly intruded his thoughts. He knew that voice somehow, had heard the distinctive malice within its tone.

_**Who are you?**_ he replied, not realising he hadn't spoken the words out loud.

_I am a friend, needing your good assistance. Your name is Gordon?_

_**Yes.**_

_Very well. My name is unimportant, but what I wish to learn from you is a set of pass codes that will help me to discover more of your secret world here._

_**What…? Pass codes…?**_

_Yes, my friend. I need to know the pass codes to gain access to your wonderful Thunderbird craft. Can you tell me the codes?_

For a flicker of a second Gordon's head screamed for him to refuse, to deny the intruder's voice in his head. Something told him this was against his morals, but the voice was so soothing.

_**I… can't…**_

_You _can _– of course you can. You hold the control, the _power _with the information you hold. _

The voice remained smooth, hypnotic. It was holding him hostage. But he couldn't…

_**All the pass codes are different.**_

_Then begin with the pass code for Thunderbird One. What is the six-digit pass code to access Thunderbird One's silo?_

He couldn't hold back any longer. He felt comforted by the security of the invisible force in his mind. _**Six…three…five…**_

_Yes, my friend?_

_**Five…**_An even longer pause. _**Two…nine.**_

Gordon could feel the warmth of the presence, knowing the voice was happy for what he had revealed. _I am grateful to you, Gordon, for providing such information. And now, what is the code to access Thunderbird Two?_

_**Thunderbird…Two…**_

_Yes, my friend – Thunderbird Two, the great carrier._

_**Two…seven…one…seven…ni – **_

The door slid ajar, revealing the finely tanned face of Jeff Tracy. "Gordon, Scott – what's going on?"

Scott immediately dropped his hold of Gordon's wrist, letting it flop freely onto the bed. Gordon felt the haze lift from his mind.

"Hi, er, Gordon and I were just talking about the rescue. He was filling me in on the details."

Gordon shook his head, clearing his view. He glanced over to Scott, a mixed expression of confusion and uncertainty streaking across the red head's face. He wasn't sure _what_ had been going on. Somehow his mind had drifted during their supposed talk. He couldn't remember anything of the past few minutes.

"Uh, yeah, sure, we… we were just talking, Dad." Gordon stuttered in reply to his father's look of question. "I… I'd better get going, before I fall asleep here."

"That's a good idea, Son. How are you feeling, Scott?"

"I'm fine, Dad, thanks. The rest did me good."

Jeff stepped forward, checking his son over. He lifted a hand to his eldest's dark locks, and ruffled them affectionately. "That's great to hear. You should try to sleep some more if you can. Come on Gordon, let's leave Scott to rest."

Jeff patted his fourth-born on the shoulder, gesturing to the door. Once his father had left the room Gordon turned to Scott with a look of confusion. "Are you all right, Gordon? I think your mind drifted while we were talking – you had a glazed look in your eyes."

"Oh God, I didn't, did I? I'm sorry, Scott – I don't remember."

"You've been out on that rescue for several hours – you're bound to be exhausted. Go on, go to sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

Gordon smiled faintly, nodding his head and causing his hair to flop forward. Scott returned the smile, and watched as his brother headed for the door.

"Scott?" Gordon called over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're okay." And with that, he opened the door and left the confines of the bedroom.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The smile on Scott's face remained until the door closed, slamming a glare of disgust in its place. Belah's plan had been disrupted once again, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

The Hood wasn't very pleased having only gained one complete pass code. Though he never liked to remain negative – he had _a_ pass code, which was much better than none at all.

The family would all soon be asleep, giving him the opportunity to sneak over to Thunderbird One's silo and capture the pictures that would bring him great fortune. Camera ready, he settled back for the wait, until his coast was clear once again.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Not far from the cabin, Scott came across an old military jeep that had seen better days. The body was more rust than actual metal, the tyres bald and hardly able to be used in such frozen conditions. Traction alone would be a problem for a speedy getaway.

Besides, on closer inspection, Scott could not find the key for the engine – he didn't realise cars still used keys in this day and age – and his hotwiring skills were rustier than the vehicle itself. It was a no go. At it so happened Scott didn't have time to consider the plan much longer, as he heard the door of the cabin open with a creak behind him, and he ducked into some nearby fauna for cover.

Keeping low, Scott watched as the second guard rounded the corner, heading down the side of the cabin. He held his breath as the guard came ever closer to the footprints he'd left behind – the deep footsteps created by his much bulkier body – leading from the cabin. The guard – a much smaller, lankier build compared to his unconscious buddy inside – glanced towards the remnants of the window, then at the shattered pieces on the floor.

Then he saw the footprints.

Scott flexed his frozen fingers, feeling the cold hard steel of the gun beneath them. He didn't want to kill the guard, if at all possible. No, an act of such extremity would bring Scott down to a level he didn't want to venture. He wasn't a murderer, whether death was intentional or not, and preferred to keep his conscience free of guilt.

But if it came down to it, he was prepared to defend his life, using such extremes.

Gorilla number two – or rather, the smaller chimp of a guard – studied the direction of the footprints, keeping a tight hold on his own weapon. He was creeping towards Scott's position.

Only one option sprang to mind at that moment. Grabbing a rock from nearby, Scott threw the object over towards another set of partly-dense undergrowth. Just as planned, the bushes rustled on impact, attracting the guard's attention towards the source of the sound.

With the guard's back turned, Scott leapt for his exit and stealthily moved away from the scene, his eyes never leaving the guard for one second. The guard never heard him. As Scott moved one way, the guard moved in the opposite, until Scott was no longer in earshot.

Once far enough away, Scott bolted for the dense woods ahead of him, wanting to place as much distance between him and the goons assigned to watch over him. After a few minutes, and a few aches of protest from his cold limbs, Scott slowed to a walk, then to a standstill as he scanned his surroundings.

He hadn't been followed, as far as he could tell.

He sought the cover of a small pine close by and couched low, watching the path he had taken. Once again he listened for the faintest murmur of sound, but only the whisper of the breeze answered.

His thoughts raced, sorting through his possible choices as to his next move. Topping the list was the need to get to his family to protect them, to warn them. But how? His outlook didn't offer much promise. He was stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with no idea of where he was. With no mode of transport, any journey was going to be long and tiring – that was, if he headed in the right direction. North, south, east or west – the same view greeted his eyes; snow followed by more snow.

_Think, Scott, think! The rescue call was received from near the Chilako River, which probably means I can't be too far from where we landed at the rescue site. The problem is… which way do I go?_ He slammed a fist into the snow in frustration._ Damn it! If only I could contact Thunderbird Five some… how… _

Rushing to pull the bulky radio free from his pocket, he turned the dial to switch it on. Loud static greeted him, startling him into searching for the volume dial at the side. A quick glance around him told him the radio hadn't been heard.

He chose a frequency at random, taking care not to tune it to the frequency of the radio belonging to the guard still searching for him. He knew he would be picked up on any frequency by Thunderbird Five, though he wondered if the radio would be strong enough to relay a message. Coughing to clear his throat, he swallowed a deep breath, calmed his nerves and depressed the button that opened his end of the communication channel.

"Calling International Rescue… International Rescue, can anybody hear me?" _Come on, come on… _"Calling International Rescue, please answer."

Scott cringed at how his voice sounded, baritone and sinister. He hoped his brother on Thunderbird Five would at least be willing to hear him out.

His calls were answered by a welcomed and familiar voice. _"This is Interna-... Rescue, receiving... two-by-five. What... your emergency?"_

"Alan! Oh man, am I glad to hear your voice! Listen, you have to get in touch with Dad and the guys at Base, International Rescue has been compromised –"

"_Who is ...-is?" _Alan interrupted, his voice tinged with suspicion. Scott slapped his head in forgetfulness. The welcomed relief of hearing a familiar voice had pushed any other thought from his mind, making him forget the slight problem of explaining his current situation. _What the hell do I tell him?_

"Ah…Alan, it's… Well, I know you're not going to believe me, but it's me, Scott." Scott's words were wavering from his lips, unable to steady them. "Look, something happened on our last rescue helping the cavers, and –"

_"Hold on, I'm losing y-... I'll... to boost... it's ver-... -ak. Keep talking..."_

Scott took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't sound insane. "Alan, it's me, Scott, your older brother. The person you think is me, well... he's not. He's an imposter, and I think he is trying to find out our secrets or worse, infiltrate the Thunderbirds."

Alan sounded surprised with his next answer. _"Who _is_ this? Who... -ou? Are you... ried... -he Thunderbirds? Hel-..."_ The line was breaking up.

"Listen to me, Al, _please_. I'm not… I mean… The person you think is _Scott_ – well he's not. He's an impostor – you _have_ to believe me! Somehow he took –"

"_I'm los-... I can't... oost... -ou he-...e?" _The signal was dropping, until he could only hear short sharp bursts of Alan's voice. It wasn't long before all that was left was noisy static.

"Alan, can you hear me? _Alan_?" But it was too late, Alan was gone. "Damn it!" Scott wanted to slam the radio to the ground, but thought better of it. "I swear, when all this gets sorted I'm so going to sort that bastard out!" He hissed through clenched teeth, raging, cursing revenge on the man who had dropped him into such a predicament.

Daylight was burning though. The sun would be setting soon, and he would lose any light to see by. He needed to find shelter soon, before the temperature fell even more.

He chose to continue forward, in the direction he had set out. A last glance around, noting the coast was clear, Scott pulled his parka close and began his journey once more.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Alan sat back, mildly perplexed at the call he had just ended. He had had plenty of experience with calls for help, varying from the genuine to the mistaken. But _that_ call… It had been the strangest of them all, to date.

He stared at the control panel aboard the space station, knowing he had to contact Base and report the call. It had disturbed him how the caller had known his name, though he hadn't given any hint as to his surprise in his reply. He reached over to the computer to open communications with Tracy Island. It wasn't long before the screen was filled with his father's friendly image.

"_Hello Alan. What's up?"_ His father smiled, but then frowned at the look of concern on his youngest's face.

"Hi Dad. I received a strange call a few minutes ago. I lost it, since it was so weak, but… Well, I think you should listen to it."

Turning to another computer, Alan scrolled down until he found the recording of the last message, and hit play.

_"...-ling Interna-... Rescue, International Rescue, can... hear me? Calling... Rescue, please answer."_

"This is International Rescue, receiving you two-by-five. What is your emergency?"

_"Alan! Oh man... glad... -our voice! Listen... have to... and the guys... International... been com-..."_

"Who is this?"

_"Ah, Alan... I know... -lieve me, but it's... -tt. Look... -r last res-... -ping the cavers..."_

"Hold on, I'm losing you. I'll try to boost your signal, but it's very weak. Keep talking to me."

_"...me... old-... person you... well, he's... impos-... trying to... -fil-... the Thundebir-..."_

"Who is this? Who are you? Are you saying that someone tried to 'film the Thunderbirds'? Hello? _Hello_?"

_"Lis-... I'm... pers-... he's... -post-... -liev-..."_

"I'm losing you, I can't boost it any more. Hello? Are you there? Can you hear me?"

Jeff listened to the recording with close interest, leaning against his desk. Kyrano stood next to him, having brought him some coffee to help calm the nerves.

The recording played, and Alan watched his father's expression contort into one of surprise, followed shortly by disturbance, just as Alan had felt a few minutes ago.

The recording came to an end, and Alan watched the computer monitor as his father sat back in thought. Alan waited for his father's response, noting Kyrano watch with similar interest.

"_What frightens me is how the caller knew your name, Alan. It's a shame we couldn't improve the signal."_ Alan nodded – they had been his thoughts also.

"You think this might have something to do with the callout in Canada?" Alan asked, feeling the growing worry poke at the back of his mind.

"_There's a strong possibility. Do you have the location of where the call came from?"_

Alan turned back to his second monitor and typed in another set of commands. He returned to face where his father waited. "Western Canada, near to where the rescue took place earlier today. It's only an approximation though, since the signal was weak. Within a twenty square-mile radius of the area."

Jeff frowned in thought for a moment, mulling over the situation that had bestowed itself upon them. _"I see. Well, in that case… Alan, if the caller should try to contact you again I want you to talk to them – try to find out as much information about them as possible. Keep trying to contact them; I want to know where this information has come from – if there is a leak within our organisation. I hope to God that isn't the case."_ He rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin, feeling where new stubble was beginning to form. _"I'll have an I.R. agent located nearby have a look into it also. Alert me as soon as possible if you have any further news."_

"F.A.B. Dad – I'll have communications concentrated around that area."

"_Okay Alan, keep scanning all frequencies as necessary. John will be ready to take over Five's duties tomorrow, but in the mean time be vigilant."_

Alan gave a smile of relief at the thought of returning home. "Man, I'm _ready_ to come home. I could sleep for a fortnight after all the rescues we've had."

A soft laugh emitted from the monitor in reply. _"I know how you feel, Son. Enjoy your last night up there. Speak to you tomorrow."_

"Sure thing, Dad. Thunderbird Five out." Alan signed out, pushing the chair back and stretching his body to smooth out the kinks. He didn't mind his monthly tour of duty up on Five, but this month had been particularly draining. He'd felt the same tenseness as his brothers, only his stemmed from psychological rather than physical stress.

He typed in the command to tell the computer to relay any emergency messages through to the computer in his sleeping quarters. Spinning in his chair, he made his way across the control room and headed for his bed, and with it, welcomed sleep.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

With no way of timing, Scott could only guess how long he'd been walking. The deepening snow had slowed him somewhat, draining his body of energy he was already low in stores of. The sun was partially hidden below the horizon, its golden rays fading from view behind the thick pines surrounding him.

He had never felt so alone before. At least out on rescues he had the means to remain in contact with his family, even if they were separated. The life of a criminal was a lonely one, he figured.

He hadn't dared to switch on the radio again, fearing the wrong people would hear him. He didn't want to be reminded of his failed attempt to contact Alan and warn him that they had been found and infiltrated, and that he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, lost and alone.

Lost, and alone, in a body that didn't even belong to him.

His legs felt like dead weights; his hands were numb from the cold. His back felt as though he had been carrying Thunderbird One the whole time, it ached so badly.

The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, the heat dissipating along with the rays of the giant fireball of the sky. The forest felt as though it was closing in on him, backing him into a corner to cower from the looming branches overhead. What he wouldn't give to be sat in his bed right now, a hot mug of coffee in one hand, with his brother Virgil to keep him company.

Virgil.

He hadn't thought of his best friend since the rescue. If anyone was able to sense something was wrong, his oldest brother would. Virgil knew him inside and out, better than anyone else in the world – often better than he knew himself. Now he hoped their supposed 'psychic link' would help him to resolve the predicament he was in – alert Virgil somehow, and lead him back home.

He felt the heavy weight in his heart as he thought of the danger his brothers were in, feeling helpless to do anything. The radio call hadn't worked, and he had no other way of contacting them, or anyone else for that matter. The woods felt even more desolate.

The last of the natural light source disappeared, replaced with the softer luminance of the moon's glow. Night creatures awakened to begin their feeding, oblivious to the stranger who walked amongst them. Scott heard the whistle of a bird fly across his path, knowing how it felt to have such freedom in the sky. His second home had always been up amongst the heavens, ever since an early age when he had first travelled on a passenger jet.

He smiled as he thought back to such happy times. They were heading to Switzerland, his first ever vacation outside the United States. At just the tender age of five he had feared flying, and at first had refused to go on the vacation. He had nervously watched the craft lift from the runway, soaring high into the sky with little effort. His first impressions of flying had been formed from the many stories he had heard of planes crashing in big balls of flames, killing everyone on board. His mother had seen his look of horror and had tried to allay his fears through reassurance, but even she hadn't been able to dispel his anxiety.

His father had known just how to calm the young boy down, however. Jeff had taken Scott and his younger brother Virgil to a nearby airport to watch the craft take off and land. At first Scott had been reluctant to even look at the planes, feeling safer with his eyes closed. With the gentle tenderness only a father could give, Jeff took his hand and walked him to one of the many full-length windows facing onto one of the runways.

Scott had kept his eyes covered with his free hand, shaking his head in refusal to look. Jeff, not wanting to give up so easily, had turned to the two-year-old at his other side, and started to encourage him to watch instead.

"Look, Virgil. Watch the plane as it comes in. Can you see the big round engines on its wings?"

Virgil had given a small coo of curiosity, fascinated as he watched the plane touch down. "Big bird! Big bird!"

"That's right – it's a big bird. And very soon, you'll be flying in a big bird, just like that one."

The giddy toddler had clapped his hands, excited to travel in the 'big bird'. Curious as to his brother's excitement, Scott had risked a look as another plane was preparing to land. Soon the slit between his fingers had grown wider, until his hand had moved away and he was watching with wide eyes of new-found fascination.

Jeff couldn't help but grin, knowing his son would want to know what had interested his brother so. He had sensed the connection between his eldest two early on, and on many occasions had used such a connection to his advantage – albeit in very sneaky ways. Scott was the protective one, using his experience to direct his brother on the right path. Virgil had been Scott's companion while they had been growing up, acting as a 'playmate' to provide him with company, and to be dragged into every adventure the eldest wanted to seek.

Still to this day, as grown men, Scott remained the protector, and Virgil his confidante, and that was how it worked best for them.

Scott's fear of flying had disappeared that day, and Jeff had been forced to carry his son away from the window to head home. When they had finally flown to Switzerland Scott had had the thrill of his life. It had been the highlight of his vacation, and, he would admit later, was one of the only things he could remember of his first time abroad.

What he wouldn't give to be able to fly home right now.

Glancing ahead, he squinted to try and make out an object ahead of him. A dark outline stood out from the snow; a large outcrop from a small sloping hill. It appeared to be a small cave, but he needed to get closer to be sure.

Hardened snow crumpled beneath his feet. He forced each foot down into the deep layer, giving out heavy laboured breaths in a cloud of hot air each time. The cave grew ever closer, poking out from the shadows yet hidden in the depths of snow. He peered inside, his gun drawn in case of any wild habitants that didn't appreciate him looking in. The cave entrance was barely large enough for him to get his body through – it was going to be a tight squeeze. But the cave appeared to enlarge somewhat towards the back, sheltered from the elements. It didn't appear to have been used for some time.

Deciding this would be an ideal location to sleep for the night, Scott moved on to his next task of creating something to alert him of intruders. With at least one guard on his trail - and possibly another not far behind with a debt to repay - he didn't want to be caught unawares while in the depths of sleep. To one side of the entrance of the cave stood a small grouping of trees – an ideal place to start. Withdrawing the knife from one of the parka's many pockets, he walked over to the trees and began to cut through one of the bulkier branches. The branch snapped off in his hand, uselessly too short for what he wanted. He discarded it to one side, and moved to try another branch. This time the branch remained intact, and he managed to cut it off in one piece. It was long and sturdy, perfect for what he planned.

Next, he needed something he could use to tie onto the branch. He looked about his person for some inspiration – and spotted it straight away. Placing the branch to one side, he took hold of the bottom of his parka where the toggles were tied. Using the knife once again, he snapped the plastic toggle, freeing the cord that ran through the bottom of the parka. He took hold of the end of the cord still with the toggle intact, and with several grunted pulls he drew the cord free. It was slim, but strong.

Near to the cave entrance stood a small shrub, no taller than a metre. Scott tied one end of the cord to one of the lower branches on the shrub, then gave a quick pull to test the knot would hold. Reaching back into his parka pocket, he withdrew the set of keys he had taken from guard he had knocked unconscious and tied them near to the shrub, along the cord. He held the keys out in front of him and gently shook them. Their tinny chinking reminded him of the chimes his Grandmother's clock used to ring out, announcing every half hour that had passed, only without the ringing.

Taking the branch he had cut earlier, he pounded the wood into the snow. It stood solid and upright to attention in the ground, awaiting further orders. He hoped there wouldn't be much of a wind tonight, else his plan might not work.

Stretching the cord, he tied the remaining end – with the keys attached – to the branch. The cord was barely touching the snow, taut with tension. He pressed a gentle pressure on to the cord – sure enough, the pressure caused the keys to start jingling in alarm. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

With a gentle sprinkling of snow the cord was hidden mostly from view, though the dark material was still partly visible. Satisfied with his invention, he turned his attention to other things.

Pulling the gun out, he ejected the clip. There were six bullets remaining. Mental arithmetic told him that meant three bullets for each man who tried to stop him, but only if he couldn't avoid the use of deadly force.

Nearby he found a hand-sized rock. It reminded him of the rock he'd used to hit the imposter – or was it himself? – on the side of the head with. At least the imposter hadn't gone away completely unscathed. Tracy men never gave in without a fight, and that was what he had kept telling himself; what he had kept thinking over and over again, pushing himself forward all the time.

Tracy men never give up.

It was their motto on each and every rescue. It had been drilled in to each of them by their father. It was a part of their blood, their ideals, their morals. It formed the very core of what they stood for.

He wasn't going to let the little problem of switching bodies prove that motto wrong.

Carefully stepping over the cord, he crawled into the cave. His shoulders scraped against the roof of the opening, and he found little room to shuffle on his knees. But once he reached where the cave enlarged further back, he found the space more than comfortable.

Lighting a fire to keep warm was out of the question. Not only would it give away his position, but the smoke would choke him, not to mention any wood he found would be too damp to use. In sobering thought, he shuffled back until he could lean with his back on the cave wall, bringing his knees up and cupping his hands to keep warm. The night ahead was promising to be cold.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. The hard surface was freezing against his hairless head, and he shivered. It was only in that moment he realised how much he had underrated having hair.

Pulling the parka hood over his head, he rested the gun on his knee – poised in his hand, pointed towards the cave's entrance – and settled down for the long night ahead.

He dreamed that the morning would bring warmer hope.


	8. You Can't Always Run From The Truth

**Chapter 7: You Can't Always Run From The Truth**

_30__th__ November, 2068_

Belah had waited until the early hours of the morning before attempting to move around the island home. Under the cover of darkness he stumbled his way through the hallway, down the stairs until he came to the monorail.

Boarding the carriage, he studied the control panel working out how to operate the machine. It was relatively simple – select the station desired, and the train practically operated itself. Feeling a tad smug, he sat and waited for the carriage to take him to his destination.

Before he knew it the train jolted to a halt, and the doors slid open to reveal a mini platform. Down the corridor, in all her glory, waited the first of his many dreams to be realised.

Thunderbird One.

The keypad was illuminated in red, aiding the user to see the outline of each key. It was an enticing glow, seducing his fingers to reach out and touch them.

A long, droning beep from the keypad's computer signalled the entry of the correct code. A small thin red beam shot out from beside the keypad, emitted from a mini camera mounted into the wall. It quickly scanned his eye, then bleeped to confirm a retinal match. The small digital screen flashed its message of approval.

* * *

_Retinal and fingerprint scans complete... _

_Identity matches: File I.D. #02B __**Scott Tracy**__. _

_Access granted __

* * *

The red neon glow beneath the keypad flickered to green, and the door opened as easily as 'open sesame'.

Belah's grin split his face wide open. He was opening the door to a secret cave of treasures.

Stepping in, savouring the salivating moment, he stood to full height and studied the room. Shrouded in darkness, the silo echoed hauntingly with his every breath. Near to the door he had entered, he found a switch he assumed to be for the light controls. With a press of the button, a buzz of electricity sounded and the lights burst into light, illuminating everything.

There, standing proudly in the centre of the silo, was the most impressive sight he had ever seen.

Thunderbird One rose tall and proud on her platform, power and majesty oozing from her from all angles. She was iconic and breath-taking; a true ruler of the skies. He stood with mouth gaping open, soaking in every detail of her fine body as the artificial light cast silvery reflections over her silky appearance. She was a ship designed with such care and attention, and loved with such affection - notable with the attention to detail of even the lettering of her name.

Removing the small camera from his pocket, he began to focus in on such details and record them as still shots, frozen in time. He took particular note of the name along the side, and other similar identifying markings. He wanted no doubts as to just what it was he had captured.

Shots of the exterior weren't enough. He needed to get inside to get his real money shots.

Looking high above him, he saw a balcony hang over his position, with a retractable platform connected to one side. It looked to be the entry point of the ship, though how he got up there was another matter.

But it didn't occupy his mind for long. His wrist began to vibrate as it had done before, and he quickly lifted his hand up to look at the chronometer. Studying the two buttons at the side of the watch face, he pressed the smaller one. The button opened a connection, and the Hood was taken aback as the image of a young blonde man replaced the clock face. The young man smiled at him, creasing the features that looked very similar to his own.

"_Hi big bro! Thought I'd check up on you, see how you are."_

_So this must be the remaining brother,_ Belah thought to himself. He smiled in small delight. "Hiya, er, bro. Yes, er… Yeah, I'm fine, thanks." He cursed himself for the stutter of an answer, but the man in his watch didn't seem to notice.

"_That's great to hear, Scott. I've been worried about you. I saw on the island monitor you were still awake and on the move. Nothing wrong, I hope."_

The Hood frowned, not knowing exactly how to respond. _How_ did the young man know he was still awake? How was he tracking him? "Er…no. No, everything's fine. I just couldn't sleep, that's all."

"_Couldn't sleep without checking up on your 'bird, huh?"_ The young man crooked an eyebrow. _"John managed to fly her home without scratching her then?"_

"Oh, yes. She's still in one piece." _What is this brother's name?_ Belah wracked his brain for the answer without success.

The man in the watch gave a short snort of amusement. _"That's a relief. That means I can come home without getting an earful off you about any damage caused. I'll be so glad to be dirt side again."_

"I know what you mean. I'll be glad to see you back home again too." His wish to see the young man was genuine, as then he would have every member of the hated family on the island, and he could take further pictures. Each picture was adding at least a few thousand dollars to his name.

"_Aw, thanks Scott. Are you coming up later to get me?"_

"Later…?" The evil mastermind felt a small sense of panic, unsure of how to answer.

"_Yeah, up in Three. Are you fit to be John's co-pilot?"_

There was a small twinge of excitement from the question. He hadn't been informed of such a plan. "Sure, why not. I usually do, right?" He guessed that was the case.

"_Great! Well, I'll see you later then. You take care now, Scott. Alan out."_ The picture vanished, leaving behind the original watch face indicating the time of 01:13 a.m.

_Alan! Of course!_ The Hood clapped his hands together, pleased to learn more details. "So… Today I shall travel into space to the station. Two Thunderbirds at the same time. How interesting…" he leered, rubbing his hands together, looking forward to the coming events. "Yes, young Alan. I shall be very happy to see you."

His mind was awake with anticipation, but his body was calling out for rest. The lack of sleep from the previous night was catching up fast, having drained his body of vital energy reserves. It was with reluctance the Hood turned to leave the bay, and Thunderbird One, behind.

He had tomorrow to prepare for. He had a bank account to fill.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

_Chink... chink_

Chimes were ringing in his head. What prank was Gordon up to now?

_Chink... chink... chink_

Now it was really getting on his nerves. Scott's conscious gave up on sleep, stirring him from his slumber. His right side ached as his weight shifted. His hand was numb from using it as a pillow, still yet to catch up with the rest of his body.

_Chink chink chink_

Scott opened his hazel eyes, a blurry vision greeting him as the light entered his pupils. He eased his body up into a sitting position, allowing his head to accustom to the movement.

_Chink... chink_

There was the damn alarm again. _Alarm…_

Scott bolted upright as it struck him what was causing the sound. Someone was setting off his homemade alarm.

Grabbing the gun from the floor, Scott pointed it at arm's length towards the cave's entrance and held his stance.

He waited.

The jingling continued.

With paranoid-heightened caution, Scott shuffled his stocky body towards the cave entrance. Peering outside, he could see nothing suspicious. Pulling his broad shoulders back through the cave's narrow entrance tunnel, keeping his gun in front of him, he crawled through to the opening.

He lifted himself onto his knees as much as the cave roof would allow him to, and held the gun out once more. The keys were just out of his line of sight, and with them the reason for the intrusion.

A sudden movement caught his eye, making him spring into action. He fell to the floor, lying low and pointing the gun straight ahead at his enemy.

Amber eyes met brown as he glared into the threatening stare… of a Gray Jay.

"It's a bird. It's a damn bird!" Scott felt the shivers of relief flood through him, his body relaxing as he leant back against the cave opening. He laughed at the ridiculousness of his actions, but glad that it was only a bird that had been nearby.

Scott watched the little bird as it happily bounced from branch to branch of the small shrub, causing the keys to rattle in similar rhythm. The jay was unfazed by Scott's presence, instead choosing to ignore him while continuing its merry dance. He watched as the little creature darted between leaves and whistled its happy song, the warbling of the melody sweet, interspersed with the occasional louder and sharper call to other birds nearby. The cheeky critter looked up to see Scott's currently inhabited face smiling down at it, and promptly turned its back on him, flipping its tail up into the air.

Scott wasn't in the least bit offended. He laughed at the nerve the bird had. "That makes two of us pal – only I hope I don't have to live with this face for much longer." As if to emphasise, he wearily wiped a hand over his unwanted features. A yawn pushed through, and he stretched out his stiff muscles.

The early morning sun was caught by the bird's feathers, casting a blue sheen over various shades of grey plumage. Lustrous brown eyes caught amber ones once more, and the little fellow gave a last happy call before lifting into the air in soundless flight. Scott watched the Gray Jay fly away to another nearby shrub, his attention directed elsewhere.

The snap of a twig jerked his head around immediately, senses back on high alert. Within a second his arms were outstretched and poised with the gun facing the direction of the source. His eyes, wide open, scanned the landscape for any sign of movement from behind the barrel of the weapon.

He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. His poise was readjusted, turning towards the direction of the movement. He caught full sight of a figure ahead.

Scott froze.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

It was a richly-glowing golden sun that welcomed him this morning. Stretching to loosen the kinks in his back, Gordon beamed a welcoming smile at the giant celestial body, happy to see the dawning of a new day.

Towel in hand, he strolled through the hallway past his brothers' bedrooms. He knew Virgil and Scott would still be asleep, never rising before the sun had fully risen. John would be up soon, not lagging far behind him. He would be savouring his final morning with natural gravity before his monthly shift began. For that, Gordon couldn't envy his older brother. Besides, nobody had managed to invent a swimming pool for outer space yet.

Turning the corner to head for the kitchen, he threw his towel over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold. He made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing the orange juice he had at the start of every day before his ritual morning swim. Glass in one hand and carton in the other, Gordon turned to head for the table.

He jumped at the sight that greeted him.

"Scott! I didn't expect to see you awake so early."

His older brother sat at the marble-topped table, a glass of water in one hand and his head leaning on the other. His eyes tracked Gordon's movements as he joined him at the opposite side of the table.

"You all right, bro?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks." Scott looked at him with joy-filled eyes, but his appearance suggested otherwise. He looked bedraggled and half-asleep. "I simply wanted a drink."

Gordon scrutinised Scott's face for a moment, before asking, "All right, what have you done with him?"

At such a question, Scott sat up rod straight, a look of almost pure panic reaching his features. He looked like a deer that was facing the headlights of an oncoming car.

Or, more suitably in this case, a truck.

"What… what are you talking about?" Scott nervously asked.

The red head was busy pouring some juice into the glass, so failed to notice his brother's alarm. "Well, let's see. It's…" He glanced at his watch. "…seven-thirty in the morning, and you're wide awake and not complaining. That isn't the Scott I know, nooooo way." He exaggerated his point with the drawn out vowel sound. "So, either aliens have come down and replaced my big brother with a clone and forgot to program him correctly, _or_ my watch is slow and it should actually read seven thirty at _night_."

"Aliens?" Scott whispered, a hint of relief and confusion masking his voice.

"_Or_, possible reason number three is that there's something on your mind."

Scott didn't reply to that, choosing instead to focus his eyes on the half-filled glass in his hand.

"_Is_ there something on your mind, Scott? I know there's something on Virgil's mind – that is, after hours of torture I was able to extract it out of him – and there's something on my mind. So what gives?"

"What makes you say that?"

"We're worried about you! I mean, since you came back from Canada you've… I don't know,_ withdrawn_ somehow? You seem less sure of yourself, less confident. Virgil's fretting that you're hiding something from him, and to be honest I don't blame him. You always confide in him with even the smallest of things. He knows you better than he knows himself. So if he's worried, I'm worried." Gordon leant forward and took hold of Scott's free hand. Scott jumped to withdraw his hand, but decided against it.

Looking his older brother straight in the eye, Gordon said, "Talk to him, tell him what it is. If it really _is_ nothing, then at least let him know." Gordon squeezed Scott's hand reassuringly, before leaning back and turning to head to the pool.

Scott remained where he was, watching with interest as the younger man left. Deep inside, the Hood felt a pang of dread, wondering if this was the start of his downfall.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Ahead of him stalked the last person he wanted to see.

The slender figure of the second guard walked onwards towards Scott, unaware of his presence. Held in both hands, the guard carried his own hand gun in front poised, ready to shoot. His gaze was focused over to the side, opposite to where Scott lay.

Counting to ten to reset his nerves, Scott slowly pulled back the hammer of the gun. His senses registered the resounding click as it echoed out into the open wilderness. The approaching guard heard it too, his head shooting up to look towards the sound's source.

Amber eyes met green, each stare colder than the snow surrounding them. Scott didn't dare to blink, holding the ice-hard glare with the willpower of a desperate man.

"Don't move." The words were spoken with a low growl – for once Scott was glad he could use this malicious voice rather than his own. He could never achieve such a controlling tone.

He lowered his left arm as the muscles began to ache once again from the tension. His right hand shook from the bitter cold temperatures, as he held the gun at the man before him.

The guard remained frozen to the spot, trying not to show his fear. His eyes gave him away.

"Drop your weapon on the ground. Now." Scott used the gun to gesture to the floor. He watched as the man obeyed, leaning over to place the gun on the floor; Scott's own gun remaining trained on his enemy's head.

"I said _drop _it!" Scott barked, razor-sharp annoyance in his voice slashing at the guard's disregard. The skinnier man continued to lean towards the ground, his hand reaching for his sleeve.

Scott only caught a glint of light as the knife flew through the air towards his chest. Pure instinct threw him back to avoid impact. His mind was still quick but his body lagged, not fast enough to completely avoid the flying weapon. Scott winced as the knife tore the material of the sleeve of his parka, feeling the sting as the metal slashed open his upper arm underneath.

Using such a distraction to his advantage, the guard leapt for his gun. Scott saw the motion as the knife flew towards him, everything a blur. Acting on instinct, Scott pulled the trigger of his gun and fired, hoping to at least distract his enemy.

Sure enough, his bullet was on target. A loud scream of agony blasted through the forest. Blood oozed from the bullet wound in the guard's leg, the shock knocking him backwards onto the ground. He grabbed his thigh where the damage had been caused, and gritted his teeth as the fiery pain burned through his muscles. Still clutching the gun, he held out his hand and began to fire at Scott, anger and adrenaline fuelling his rage. Scott scrambled away from the cave, ducked the first of the shots, and narrowly avoided the second that whizzed past his head.

He ran for the cover of the trees nearby, dodging a further three bullets to get there. He didn't dare look back.

Running onward, he headed up a small hill towards the trees above. Reaching the tree line, he hurried to a halt as the steep slope loomed below him at the last moment. But he was too late.

He lost his balance, and his feet lost their grip on the slippery snow, pulling him down the slope, the snow collapsing all around him. Gravity took control as his hands attempted to grab hold of something to slow his descent. Snow and rocks crumbled under his fingers and shoes as he clawed furiously for grip. Looking down below, the bottom of the hill loomed closer. A hard landing was inevitable.

Bracing for impact, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, his gun still held tightly. With a heavy thump he landed face first into the knee-high snow, the wind forced out of his lungs. Breathing hard, he lifted himself to a kneeling position and held his chest. A shot rang out above his head, and he quickly turned to watch his enemy take aim once again at his head. Scott ducked low to avoid another bullet, wincing at the bruises that stung. He headed for the cover of the trees just ahead.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The guard's arm shook from the cold and the shock of his injury. He could feel the warm blood seep between his fingers, dripping onto the snow in tiny pools. He gripped the material of his trousers to try and stem the flow, but his frozen fingers offered little hold. His firing arm shook so badly he could no longer take aim, and so with anger in his heart he lowered the gun.

Leaning against the tree, the guard watched as his prisoner ran further from sight, until the trees covered all trace of the Hood's figure. He smacked the gun against the tree trunk, causing a handful of snowflakes to fall around him. His master would not be pleased to hear of such unfortunate news. In a masochistic way, he was pleased he had been injured. His master may be less angry if he appeared to have attempted to recapture their prisoner and had failed because of injury.

But then again, there was no master as unpredictable as Belah Gaat.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Scott didn't dare stop running, not even to look back. He'd avoided several bullets so far, but he wasn't sure how far his luck was willing to stretch.

He was forced to stop only when his lungs cried out for oxygen. Leaning over, using his knees for support, Scott sucked in lungful after lungful of air to quell the aching in his chest. The build up of lactic acid began to diminish, the excess adrenaline flush out, reaching almost normality as his breath steadied into a normal rhythm.

He was bruised in several places, he knew without looking. His right hand began to ache. Lifting it up, along with the gun he still clutched, he could see the thumb joint begin to swell where it had been sprained. It was turning a gorgeous shade of purple, contrasting his dark tan. _My imposter is not going to be pleased to see this,_ he mused, not that it was his main concern.

Gently he examined the area around his thumb. Pressing the skin lightly, he hissed a couple of times as he hit the more tender spots. He almost screamed when he hit ground zero of the injury.

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he waited for the wave of pain to wash over him. He tried to move his index finger from around the trigger of the gun, but found to his dismay that he couldn't move it.

"Great, looks like my hand's broken. I must've landed on the gun awkwardly. That's all I need." He looked at the limb in disgust, knowing his right hand was his stronger firing hand. He could shoot with his left, but not as accurately.

With as much tenderness as he could manage, he took hold of the finger and moved it away from the trigger. Red hot pokers of pain shot through the tendons, broken bones grating unnaturally together. The gun fell with a muffled thump into the softened snow near his feet. The move had been painful, but at least the gun was now free from the grip.

"I'll need a makeshift bandage." Unbuttoning his parka, he pulled his left arm out of the sleeve. He hissed again as the cut on his upper arm stung with the movement. The wound had bled a little, but most of it had been soaked up by the sleeve of his sweater. He shrugged off the parka with his shoulders, not daring to use his other hand to avoid causing any further damage.

Reaching into the parka pocket for his knife, Scott took hold of the silk lining as best he could with his injured hand. The next part was going to be tricky.

The knife sliced through the material with ease. The silk was torn into a strip long and wide enough for him to wrap around his hand. Putting the parka back on, he knelt down and took a handful of snow.

With the silk cloth over the injury, Scott carefully placed some snow between his thumb and index finger where the sprain and possible break were. The snow froze his hands to the touch, making him grit his teeth to force himself to keep the snow in contact. He wasn't as good a medic as Virgil, but he knew it was necessary to reduce the swelling.

After a few minutes he lifted the snow away, partly melted from his body heat. The pain had dulled to some degree, though the smallest movement threatened to bring a renewed surge.

Tying the two ends of the cloth together, he placed the injured hand in his parka pocket to protect it from the bitter cold. Looking back through the wall of trees, he found not the slightest of movement to indicate he had been followed. The guard had been injured, but even such a serious wound hadn't stopped the goon from firing at him from the top of the slope.

Scott released a deep breath into the atmosphere, watching the hot air condense in the frozen breeze. He retrieved the gun from the snow and pocketed it.

His options were fairly limited: back the way he had come, where the guard with a gun was no doubt waiting for him. Option two was to continue forward and hope something would turn up.

Option two looked as good as any, and so he walked on.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

With a long stretch, Virgil walked into the kitchen. He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his weary eyes. He was greeted with the smiles of his younger brothers Gordon and John, and Tin-Tin, who had watched him enter.

Gordon, especially, was smiling at the state of his brother's unkempt chestnut hair. He looked as though he had been electrocuted.

"Morning, Virg. Going for the windswept look this time?"

The pilot frowned, not following at first until he ran a hand through his hair. "Very funny, _Gordy_."

Gordon glared at him in mock irritation. "You know I _hate_ being called that, _Virg_."

"I know. That's why I mentioned it." Virgil perched on one of the chairs, a smug smirk on his face. "I'd rather be called after a bank than, what was it again? 'Vulgarly bright and colourful', I think, was the dictionary's definition for 'gaudy'." His smirk rose two-fold. The play on the use of their nicknames was old battleground for them, a subject that wasn't brought up as often as it used to be but one that liked to surface on occasion.

"Well, they can't always be right with their definitions. 'Grassy bank' doesn't quite describe you, does it?" Gordon's grin lit the whole room. Virgil wasn't really one for sibling battles first thing in the morning, and so didn't retort. Gordon stood from the table, and turned to head for the sink for a glass of water.

John watched with a wary eye, waiting for the mischievous grin to make its mark. "You're not going to wake Scott up with the water again, are you? I thought you liked having a neck, Gords."

"On the contrary, Johnny. Our dear older brother is already awake. In fact he was awake before _me_ this fine morning."

Three sets of eyebrows lifted at the statement, just as Gordon had expected. Slowly he turned to study each of the expressions around him, waiting for someone to break the silence. "You mean he was up at dawn?" John finally asked. Gordon nodded his head affirmatively.

"He's a clone, he's got to be – it's the only rational explanation." John suggested half seriously, though the serious part was that he _couldn't_ explain his brother's unusual behaviour.

"I already suggested aliens, but then what would they want Scott for?" Gordon shrugged, a look of 'I-don't-know' crooking his lip to one side.

"You think aliens want to get their hands on International Rescue's secrets?" Virgil threw in, an eyebrow cocked suggestively in mock seriousness.

"Will you listen to yourselves?" Tin-Tin put the knife down on the counter, not believing what she was hearing, even though most of the conversation wasn't serious anyhow. "For once your brother is awake early and you all decide he's out of his mind. Haven't any of you simply acknowledged that Scott might just want to be awake and ready for the trip to Thunderbird Five?"

Three pairs of eyes watched Tin-Tin, noting her unusual small outburst. They all knew Tin-Tin could get quite a temper on her, challenging their grandmother for the first prize at times. Almost in sync three sets of eyebrows furrowed inwards, waiting for her to continue.

Instead, Tin-Tin turned in exasperation, picked up the slice of toast she had prepared and walked out of the room. She was watched by three nervous brothers. Three brothers who, ordinarily, risked life and limb to rescue those in need, and who, ordinarily, had outer shells of steel. Three brothers who had now been put in their place by the young Malaysian woman with one short snap of her vocal whip.

"She's good," Gordon commented, with a scowl from John thrown in his direction. "Alan has no chance with a temper like that."

"She's also right – maybe we _are_ just reading too much into things." John threw in, hoping for all three of them. But a quick glance in Virgil's direction told him otherwise. "Where is Scott anyhow?" Gordon simply shrugged his shoulders. Pushing away from the table, John said, "I'd better get ready to head on up to Five. See you guys later."

He headed for the doorway, only breaking his stride in time to prevent himself from running into Scott head on. "Oh, morning, Scott." He received a short grunt in reply.

John's eye caught the bags under Scott's eyes, as though he had been awake for most of the night. "You all right, Scott?" John asked warily, not sure of what reaction he would get from his eldest sibling.

"Sure, sure – never better." Scott waved a dismissing hand as he headed for the dining table, the reply automatic. Pulling up a chair, he leant forward on his hands, looking as though he lacked any energy.

"Right. I'll er… I'll go get ready." John made a quick exit from the room, after glancing at Virgil's frown of concern.

"Are you sure you're all right to go up in Three today, bro? I don't mind standing in for you if you want to go back to bed," asked Gordon. Scott was shaking his head before the question had even been completed.

"I'm sure, I _promise_ you. Besides, I'm looking forward to going up to see… er, _Alan_… again." There it was again, the taint of an uncertain tone in his answer.

"Okay, only if you're sure." Gordon turned to make his own exit from the room, but not before catching Scott's eye and gesturing to Virgil with a nod of his head, as though to silently say 'talk to him'.

Virgil's eyes hadn't left Scott's since the older man had walked into the room, exhaustion written across his features. After some careful scrutiny, Virgil spoke up, "Fancy a game of pool later on?"

Virgil knew that often Scott would open up to him during pool. It offered them time to talk in privacy, of sorts; to free their minds whilst keeping themselves occupied at the same time. Quite often games had been left unfinished as heated discussion or personal talk had assumed importance. Many tears had fallen at that table, as well as many hugs of comfort exchanged.

Scott looked at him with a blank expression. Virgil took the opportunity to look deep into Scott's eyes as he waited for an answer, searching the depths of his brother's soul through open windows.

Only, the windows to his soul seemed to have shutters covering them.

Virgil willed the psychic link to open up and tell him what was on his brother's mind, but the sense never came. It didn't even feel as though the connection they shared was being blocked or cut, somehow.

The connection simply didn't exist anymore.

Virgil felt a cold shiver ripple through his very soul. This wasn't his brother. This wasn't the same man he had spent thirty years of his life respecting and loving unconditionally. Scott had changed, but how and why Virgil couldn't even begin to guess.

The response lacked Scott's usual cheery quality, but that was only something his closest family would pick up on. "Of course, Virgil. I'd love to." _Virgil_… Scott rarely called him by his full name at home, usually reserving such formality for when they were out on rescues. Standing tall, Scott looked down at his younger brother and smiled. "Soon as I get back home, we can play." And with that, he left the room.

Virgil sat watching, quietly stunned by his own revelation. He suddenly felt very nervous, his worry notching to a level of almost blind panic.

He knew now something was wrong; he just _knew_.

At that moment, Tin-Tin returned to the kitchen, with Grandma close behind. "Ah, good morning Virgil. Sleep well, dear?" the elderly woman asked of her grandson.

Virgil blinked, clearing his mind of the disturbing thoughts running through his mind, returning him back to the real world. "Er…yeah, thanks, Grandma."

The two women looked at him momentarily, seeing the look of worry adorn his features. "Virgil? What's wrong, honey? You look like you've seen a ghost," asked Ruth.

"Tin-Tin, where's your father? I need to go and have a talk with him." Virgil stood from the table.

"I think he is in his room, meditating."

"Thanks." Without a word of explanation, Virgil left the room, heading through the corridor towards Kyrano's room.

Something was very, _very_ wrong.


	9. Disembodied Beings

**Chapter 8: Disembodied Beings**

"Ready, John?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, Father."

Walking to his father's desk, John embraced his father in a hug. Jeff heartily returned the gesture. It was a ritual Jeff always undertook when one of his sons was preparing to head up to Thunderbird Five. Nearby, their grandmother waited to give her own hug. As John moved over to hug the elderly lady, Jeff turned to his eldest son who waited by the sofa.

"Scott, are you sure you're up to this?"

Deep inside, Belah had to hide the face of annoyance he wanted to show for hearing the question yet again. To him, such expression of family bonding was suffocating. "Yes, Father."

Jeff gave a nod, more to assure himself than anyone else. John joined Scott on the sofa. Reaching down to the button behind his desk, Jeff said, "All right, boys. Have a good trip. John, take care and we'll see you in a month."

"Yes, Sir." John gave his father a salute as the sofa descended into the depths of the underground passageways.

The unexpected jolt as the hydraulics kicked in caught Scott off guard, causing him to grab the furniture for support. John couldn't miss the movement but kept quiet, instead watching as the empty replacement sofa motored past them, heading for the lounge.

"I hope Alan, at least, hasn't left his magazines and other stuff all over the place. I swear him and Gordon have never learned what a bookcase is for."

Scott didn't answer, instead more interested in the vast expanse of tunnels and equipment they passed on their journey.

John glanced over at his brother. His sigh was a pained one, wondering if this was going to be a very quiet trip indeed.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Kyrano didn't open his eyes to answer the knocking at his door. "Come in," he called to the person outside, the invitation into his personal space a warm one, as always. Seeing the young man enter, he lifted himself out of his crossed-leg position on the floor onto his feet, and bowed in humble welcoming.

"Good day, Mister Virgil. How are you?"

Virgil smiled in greeting, bowing his head in respect to the Malaysian. "I'm well Kyrano, thanks. I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked, noting the colourful mat on the floor, used for meditation.

"Of course not, Mister Virgil, you are always welcome here. I was merely meditating." Looking closely at the young man before him, Kyrano became concerned. "You seem troubled."

Kyrano was renowned for his ability of perception. "That's what I came to talk to you about. I…I wanted to ask for your advice." Virgil answered.

Kyrano smiled, and held a hand towards his bed, inviting Virgil to sit. "How may I help you?"

Taking a steady breath, Virgil took a blind step into the dark subject. "It's… I've…" Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes then lowered his head for another attempt. "I think something is wrong with Scott, but I don't know what."

Turning to the wise man beside him, Virgil noticed no change in his expression. Instead Kyrano waited for him to continue, encouraging him with a gleam in his eyes.

"It's just little things, but… He seems quiet, distant, somehow, as though he's lost his confidence. He faltered on Brains' name, but that could just be to do with the blow to his head. But then there's the fact he was up so early this morning, which… well, that doesn't seem so unusual in and of itself, does it?" Virgil's hands started to fidget as his mind sifted through the evidence he had gathered of his brother's out-of-character behaviour.

Kyrano remained quiet, giving his young friend time to contemplate what he was saying. A comfortable silence grew between them, until Virgil felt ready to continue. "There's something missing, or wrong, but I can't explain what. It's more of a gut feeling I have. When he was in the kitchen, I looked deep into his eyes, but it… it wasn't Scott I saw, not the Scott I know. He was a stranger to me; I couldn't read him like I normally can. It was unnerving, to say the least." He gave a low snort of amusement, almost embarrassed by what it was he was admitting. "But who else could it be? It _has_ to be Scott. I mean, it's not like he could have had a personality transplant or anything, could it?"

Opening his hands out in question, Virgil looked to Kyrano as though to give him the cue it was his turn to speak.

Kyrano studied Virgil for a while, taking in his words.

"'Jangan disangka air yang tenang tiada buaya', I believe is what my people may say." Kyrano watched the young man's face contort into an expression of confusion, before continuing, "It means, 'Do not think that the placid water is without waiting crocodiles.'

"What I believe you tell me is that you see a change in your brother, but you believe it is not possible. Because it is Scott you see on the outside, you think it is Scott that must be deep below the surface. Why do you not trust your instincts, Mister Virgil? Is it because your brothers do not share such sight?"

Virgil shook his head hesitantly. "John thinks there's something wrong, and I think Gordon does too. But – and this might sound crazy – I feel Scott isn't _here_ anymore. I don't know how else to explain it."

Kyrano bowed his head in thought. "Your soul cannot feel his." A look of surprise from Virgil gave Kyrano the affirmation that he had assumed correct. "You have tried to speak to him, but he does not reply."

"I've asked him what's wrong, but he says everything's fine – his _usual _answer." Virgil gave an exasperated sigh.

Kyrano shook his head. "You misunderstand me. Your _soul_ has tried to speak to him, but his soul does not speak to you." To this Virgil looked at Kyrano with eyes that held so much respect, but also ones pleading for an answer.

"I guess you could say that, yeah."

"Then I may only suggest you talk to him, heart to heart, to see if he opens up to you." Resting a hand on Virgil's arm, Kyrano explained, "He will talk, if his heart is willing. And perhaps with only one who shares a heart that is like his own. I am sure that is what your brothers have suggested also."

Virgil had a conspiring smile on his face. "We've arranged to have a game of pool later on, when he gets back from Five."

Kyrano's smile grew, knowing that was how the two eldest Tracy brothers talked their problems out. "Then may I wish you luck, Mister Virgil, in finding your answers."

Patting Kyrano on the arm, Virgil smiled. "Thanks, Kyrano. Thanks for listening to me."

"Of course, Mister Virgil. I am only too pleased I can help you."

Both men stood from the bed. Kyrano bowed once again, acknowledging their parting, whilst Virgil bowed his head. Even though his family did not share the same beliefs as Kyrano and his daughter, they felt it was only honourable they return the same courtesy to them.

Virgil turned on his heels to leave the room, a new determination set in his mind. His brothers wouldn't be back for a few hours at least. That would give him ample time to plan the conversation ahead.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Kyrano watched as the musician left, sliding the door with a soft click. He had to admit it hadn't been as much of a surprise to hear such a confession from Virgil. Kyrano had sensed the waves of negative energy blanket the island like murky fog. The harmony of the family had been invaded; a sinful aura had settled in amongst them and was now beginning to weave its dark tendrils around each member's spirit, suffocating them. Kyrano shuddered at such insecurity.

Kyrano hadn't doubted his sense of judgement, but he wasn't sure if he was the only one to sense such trouble. Granted, he had not spoken to or even seen the oldest Tracy brother, which would explain why it had only been Virgil's spoken confession of worry that had alerted him to the possible source of such negativity.

Now Kyrano knew he had to investigate for himself. But it would have to wait. Scott was still away and would not return for several hours yet. Then he knew Virgil would be first in line to speak to his older brother.

Sitting back on the mat beside his bed, he crossed his legs and began to cleanse his mind and body. Turning to the large window to his side, he imagined the dark clouds of evil descending further upon the island.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Taking view of the stars from the porthole, Belah watched as the elegant red rocket ripped from the grip of gravity, shooting into the abyss of empty space. Red-hot flames gushed from the powerful atomic-nuclear engines, pushing Thunderbird Three to a force of Mach 26. Inside, however, the artificial gravity made the journey feel like a simple cruise through Earth's blue skies.

From his seat beside the control panel, Belah watched as John busied himself with the control computer, watching the monitor with interest. They hadn't spoken much since the launch, much to Belah's relief but much to John's dismay. The middle child was quiet by nature, acting often as referee to many of his brothers' fights. It was rare for John to lose his temper with anybody, sharing a peaceful nature like that of Virgil. Scott and Alan had the snappy temperament, while Gordon had a mixture of the two, in many ways. He was the champion talker of the family, but had a peaceable nature not far from matching John's, though much more jovial.

Without taking his eyes from the computer monitor, John tried again to converse with his brother. "Thirty minutes to docking procedure initiation, Scott." The statement broke the stalemate of silence between the two men.

Belah, as Scott, simply grunted, not knowing what else to reply with. It had been a hard part to play, the role of big brother, but his limited experience of having a brother he hated gave him some inspiration. Just the very mention of Kyrano's name made his blood boil.

John sat back in the commander's chair, the silence blanketing them once more. He wanted so much to grab hold of Scott's shoulders there and then and shake some sense into his brother, but then he didn't fancy being on the receiving end of a knuckle sandwich. And Scott could dish out plenty.

"Scott? I, er… I was just… wondering…" John interlaced his fingers tensely. He saw the sigh of expectance from his brother from the corner of his eye. "Nothing. Forget it."

Belah didn't push the matter further, and the hateful silence beckoned to call again. John felt uncomfortable around his eldest brother, a sensation he admitted he'd rarely felt around Scott. Had he upset him somehow? Was Scott angry with him?

"I'm going down below," the elder man suddenly announced, standing from the chair and guiding his borrowed body to the lift. John, startled from his thoughts by the unexpected announcement, turned in time to see the lift door drop down and the lift descend. John felt the prickle of unease creep down his spine again. His 'brother radar' was bleeping a warning inside his head.

Turning back to the computer monitor, John flopped back in the chair, willing the rocket to power forward even more so as to reach Thunderbird Five sooner. Another twenty-five minutes to go, the computer stated.

For perhaps one of the few times during his work with International Rescue, he would be ecstatic to see Alan again, and his 'bird.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The Hood arrived in the lounge with a jolt as the lift settled. The door rose to allow access into the port, but what he saw didn't offer him much hope of discovery.

Off to one side was the main computer, where sat various controls and dials. On the back wall hung a large monitor, and beside it a large gold intercom speaker, for contact with the control room, Belah assumed. A bookcase was attached to the wall, containing films and books - a way to pass the time, perhaps? Or even for reference, for rescues, or just curious minds. Whatever the purpose, Belah held no interest for such trivial things. His interest was in the computer.

Stepping past the sofa on which he had originally embarked, The Hood dug deep into his pocket and pulled out the mini camera he had used before. He was eager to take as many pictures as he could before returning to the control room above. If only there was a way he could get the other man to leave him alone in there for a few minutes.

But there was no time. Soon an alarm and a message on the monitor signalled they were only two minutes away from arriving at International Rescue's space station, and that was one event he didn't want to miss. He stepped into the lift to head back to the control room.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five."

The cheery voice and happy smile of the youngest Tracy answered the call almost immediately. _"Thunderbird Five receiving you five by five. It's great to hear from you, John."_

John returned the smile for the welcoming reception he received. Alan's voice resounded in warmth, unlike Scott's, which had held an icy quality for the past couple of days.

"You too, Alan. It's been a long month. How's things been up here? Any more news on that call you got yesterday?" While talking, John was scrutinising the background of the picture, trying to see how bad Alan's mess was this time.

"_None so far. That's been about the only thing of interest. Though I do have an update on those men you rescued in Canada yesterday."_

John's eyes widened, having forgotten about the two men they had helped. Just as John was about to ask about the cavers' condition, he heard the distinctive whoosh of the lift door as it opened, revealing the tall muscular figure of Scott Tracy.

Momentarily distracted, John took a quick look over to his brother then turned back to Alan on-screen. "How're they doing?"

"_They're fine – good as new, in fact. They were released last night after being given the all-clear."_

A wave of relief washed over him, proud that his involvement in the men's rescue had ensured their safety. "That's great news. Thanks for letting us know."

"_Yeah, well, I only picked it up while scanning the airwaves over that location. Turns out you guys are their super heroes over there."_ Alan snorted a small laugh. _"Apparently those men you rescued weren't cavers at all – they were the local park rangers. They'd been reported missing three days ago by their families, after failing to return home."_

Scott looked over John's shoulder, peering into the azure eyes of the brother nine years his junior. "Hi, Alan."

"_Hey Scott! How're you doing?"_ The bright spark in Alan's voice flashed once again.

"Great, thanks. Good news about those rangers."

Alan noted the lack of warmth in Scott's voice, but didn't show any indication in his body language. _"It is – Dad thought so too. But that's not the reason why I called him."_

John frowned, resting his head on his hand. "What is it, Alan?"

"_Well, it turns out those two rangers had been given a drug called…"_ Alan briefly turned away to look at another monitor to one side. _"Ciapidem. It's a sedative that acts quickly, within half a minute; used mainly for calming psychiatric patients. Looks like yours and Dad's gut instincts might've been right."_

"Right about what?" Scott blurted out before he could stop himself. Inside, Belah squirmed, kicking himself, waiting for the inevitable looks of confusion. To his surprise, John just took the question in his stride.

"We had suspicions that the rescue in Canada was a set-up; a false call to lure us out to try and sabotage the craft. Dad, Virgil and me thought the same, especially after your 'attack'."

Subconsciously Scott lifted a hand to the area of his head where he had been hit. It still smarted to the touch, and he hissed back a little of the pain.

"_But nothing happened, did it? Apart from the drugged rangers, nothing unusual happened that would point to who set the rescue up and why."_ Alan pointed out, glancing over at a monitor behind him quickly. _"You're ten minutes away, guys."_

"Thanks, Alan." John answered, before continuing with the debate. "But you've got to admit it's a little more than a coincidence for Scott to be injured and the two rangers to be kidnapped within such a close time frame." John held his arms out. "I don't know… Something about all of this doesn't make any sense. It _feels_ wrong, but I can't place a finger on _why_."

"John," Scott spoke softly, keeping his voice calm. He placed a firm hand on the blonde's shoulder. _It's now or never_, the Hood mused to himself. "Firstly, I fainted. I wasn't attacked, or else I would have seen who attacked me or at least remember part of the attack. Secondly, yes those rangers were drugged, but they are safe now, thanks to us." There was the faintest hint of sarcasm in his last words, but the tone was used so delicately it passed John and Alan by without arousing suspicion. "So, John, I don't see what the problem is."

John turned towards Scott, revealing a heavy frown of confusion darken his features. "It's the implications we have to think about, Scott. It's also the fact that we might be being targeted by someone out there. Dad's worried to death as it is just letting us out of his sight. The last thing he needs is our lives under threat. Hell, it's the last thing _I_ want."

Scott folded his arms in defence. Alan had a pensive look streaked across his features. It was Alan who spoke his mind first. _"I agree with what you're saying, Johnny. But I think I agree _more_ with what Scott's trying to say."_ Scott had a look of surprise at this, but Alan didn't notice. John did, however. _"This might've just been a 'one-off' occurrence, with any luck. I haven't picked up any further calls from that area, or any calls concerning any plot to bring down I.R."_

The computer bleeped by Alan's side, alerting him to Thunderbird Three's approach. _"We'll continue this debate once you're on Five. In the meantime, you need to adjust your trajectory two degrees to the right."_

John felt a little annoyed at his baby brother; his lack of support on the matter showing Alan's typical 'elder-brother-worship' in play. "Sure thing. Catch you in a few, boy."

Pressing a small red button at the bottom of the control panel activated Thunderbird Three's docking sensors. The monitor sprang to life, showing the three-dimensional model representations of both Thunderbirds Three and Five, building up from the basic mesh. The computer bleeped, auto-aligning the craft to meet with the electromagnets on the space station's docking port.

With a metallic clunk the rocket secured to Thunderbird Five, followed by a hiss as the air pressure was adjusted to match the rest of the station. Motorised mechanics lifted the hatches between the two Thunderbird craft, and both men exited the rocket. Stepping into the air lock, John stared straight on in wait of the door ahead to lift. It did so within a few seconds, to reveal the cheeky grin of Alan Tracy.

John stepped into his Thunderbird and felt the strong sensation of arriving home once again. This was his second home – quiet, solitary, but his haven all the same. He beamed as he glanced around, before his eyes rested fully on his younger brother.

"Hey, little brother," John oozed affection, stepping forward and reaching his arms out to hug his brother. Alan returned the gesture, patting John's back in his manly style. Both men were pleased to be in each other's presence after spending a month apart.

Alan turned to Scott and repeated the hug, feeling the slight stiffening of apprehension. "Hey, Scott. Good to see you again."

Scott's smile flickered for a brief moment, before fading. He stepped further inside the space station, seemingly fascinated by all the equipment lining the length of the far wall. Alan watched him with curiosity, wondering if there was something John had neglected to tell him.

"So come on, then, John. Fill me in on what's been happening down on planet Tracy this past month." Alan asked, keeping a wary eye on Scott.

John didn't answer the question, instead his mind preoccupied with the procedural aspects of beginning his tour of duty. On the keyboard he entered his identification and password, and the computer accepted. He typed in a set of commands, and the computer started a system diagnostics.

Alan's impatience, however, got the better of him. Rolling his eyes - John was always one to lose sense of the outside world once he got stuck into his work, especially where Thunderbird Five was concerned - Alan took the silence as his cue to speak. "Look, Johnny, it's not as though we have much of a choice when it comes to these matters. We can't simply just shut down operations because of the possibility of a saboteur lurking after us. We keep an ear out for anything else suspicious, which is about all we can do."

"I'm not saying we shut down operations, Al," John replied, tapping the keyboard in paced rhythm. "I'm just saying that we can't ignore things like this. I agree with what _you're_ saying, just not what _Scott's_ saying. He's implying that we forget about it, but we shouldn't."

"Speaking of Scott…" Alan began as soon as Scott was out of earshot. "Is everything okay at home? He seems awful quiet."

Again John didn't give a response, only this time it was because he wasn't sure what to respond with. Straightening up from the keyboard, he folded his arms in thought. "You noticed it too, huh?"

"Like you'd 'notice' a hurricane. Have any of you guys tried to talk to him?" Alan's voice had shrunk to a whisper.

"We've asked him what's wrong, but he says he's all right. He might be fine for all we know, and we're making a big deal out of nothing."

Alan looked sceptical. "Doubt it. I noticed the look on your face when I was talking to you on Three. Neither of you were comfortable in there – you, especially. You had your 'panicky' face on."

"'Panicky'? I wasn't 'panicky' – I was worried, more than anything. And tense. Scott's hardly said a word to me on the journey up here."

"Scott? You mean _the_ Scott Tracy didn't talk your ear off? The very same bossy, all-knowing, sometimes egotistical –"

"That's enough, Alan, I get your point."

"That head injury wasn't serious, was it?"

John's head turned at the statement. He looked at Alan for a long moment, considering the implications. "Brains gave him the all-clear. I'm pretty sure that's got nothing to do with it."

Alan peered over John's shoulder to look over at Scott, sure their brother wasn't too close to hear. "You're only _pretty_ sure? That means you think so."

"I didn't say that…" John began, only to be nudged in the ribs to halt the discussion. Alan's eyes widened in warning, watching Scott approach them from behind.

"Hey Scott, I was wondering…" That was as far as Alan got when he was interrupted by an alarm.

The bleeping from the computer console signalled an incoming emergency call, and all three brothers headed over to investigate. Alan grinned at John, and held an open hand out towards the panel. "Your turn, Johnny."

Professional face and voice in place, John answered the call. "This is International Rescue receiving your call. What is your emergency?"

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The snow glared in his eyes, forcing him to shield his vision as best he could. His host body was complaining every step of the way, especially the broken hand he now cradled in his pocket.

Scott felt the disorientating effects of walking endlessly through a never-ending forest of pines and conifers. His head was spinning, making him wonder if he had walked the same path over and over, wandering aimlessly in circles for what felt like an eternity. He had no idea where he was heading, or what his plan of action was to be. He was making it all up as he went along.

A small grouping of rocks eventually tempted him to rest. Located at the bottom of yet another climbing hill, they offered little comfort to the weary traveller, but it was something all the same. Perching on one of the larger rocks, Scott wiped his hand along his brow, sweeping away some of the perspiration from his eyes. Gazing at the wilderness before him, he felt even more alone than he thought was possible.

The still air tempted him into thought, relaxing him into concentrating on other matters while his body rested. He felt taught with frustration at the whole mess. With no transport or possible method of communication he was as good as lost.

The broken hand in his pocket brushed against the edge of the radio. With his good hand he lifted it out and stared at it with a pained look.

_It's useless – Al couldn't hear me last time, the signal was too weak._ Scott raised the receiver to his mouth… but then rested it against his cheek in hesitation. _What can I say to prove it's really me?_

It was his only choice at that moment in time. His options were limited, or more appropriately, non-existent. But were they?

A thought occurred to him, and he turned to look up at the hill behind. Maybe if he was clear of the forest it might help to get a better signal. It was worth a try.

With a little renewed hope, Scott slipped and scraped his way up the slippery slope, only one hand to help anchor him. It was a struggle, but compared to what he had been through the past twenty-four hours it was a breeze.

For the second time Scott lifted the radio, only this time taking a steadying breath to settle his apprehensive nerves. Pressing the side button to open communications, he began to speak.

"Calling International Rescue… International Rescue, can you hear me?" His voice sounded croaky, as though he'd swallowed a frog.

Within a few seconds a reply came forth, the distinct professional tone of John Tracy penetrating his eardrums. _"This is Internation-... -cue receiving... your emergency?"_

_John! Yes, it's you! _He sent a brief prayer of thanks to whoever was watching from above. Scott paused, unsure what to say next. "Well… You're not going to believe me when I say this, but…"

"_Wait a min-…" _ Scott heard a voice mutter in the background sounding vaguely like Alan's. He could hear his brothers whisper to each other, exchanging short exclamations before returning back to the microphone.

"_Sir, can you identi-... -self?"_

_What? That doesn't sound like John at all. Since when did he ever ask for identification?_ Scott frowned at the radio, as though his confusion could be seen by his brothers on the space station. "John? John, you have to listen to me. The man you know as Scott Tracy, he isn't. Damn it, this all sounds so crazy but it's true." He rubbed his forehead against his arm, willing back the headache that was building.

"The rescue in Canada – something happened there and somehow I switched-"

"_Who is this?"_ The voice snapped from the radio. Scott froze instantly at the sound of the voice, its pattern distinctive and its melody a familiar acquaintance. He was listening to a disembodied being; a weird sensation of hearing a recorded message being played back.

It was the voice of Scott Tracy.

* * *

_Hi to all who are still keeping up with this story! I want to thank you all for reading and for the lovely comments on my story. We're just reaching the half-way point and the fun is just beginning :)_


	10. Icy Fronts

**Chapter 9: Icy Fronts**

John waited with everlasting patience for a reply, the soft static emitting from the communications speaker not counted. Alan drummed the console, while Scott peered over their shoulders, using his height to full advantage. When the reply eventually came, only Alan jolted in recognition.

"_Well…you're not goin... -lieve me when... this, but…"_

"Wait a minute…" Alan muttered, matching the voice with the man's he had spoken to earlier. Checking the source location of the call, he leaned in close to John's ear and confirmed, "That's him! That's the guy who contacted us earlier."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. The call's been traced close to the same area. It's him, I'm certain!" He glanced at John then Scott, taking in their expressions. John's face held a smidgen of worry, whilst Scott's held more of a neutral quality. Alan wasn't sure how to read the face of his oldest brother – in fact he was sure he had never seen such an expression on Scott before.

"Talk to him, John. Dad wants to know who this guy is," Alan nudged. "Scott, make sure this is being recorded," he advised his older brother. Scott turned to another console and began tapping keys.

Turning back to the microphone, John cleared his throat to make it sound as professional and authoritative as possible. "Sir, may I ask the reason for your call?"

There was a short silence in answer, leaving both blonde men waiting tensely for what was to follow in reply. When the words eventually sounded they were the last they had imagined to hear.

"_John? John, you have... - sten to me. The man... be Scott Tracy… he isn't. Damn it... sounds so crazy... true!"_

Neither man knew what to say, how to react. Fortunately Scott solved that problem as he pushed his way between his brothers and assumed position over the microphone, his attention focused on the equipment in front of him.

_"... rescue in Can-... – someth-... ed there and... I switched –"_

Scott tensed, his eyes widening in horror at the voice. John and Alan didn't see, but they sensed his body stiffen between them. Scott's hand was quick to cut off the incomprehensible ramblings with the punch of a button, interrupting before any words had a chance to register.

"Who is this?" Scott snapped defensively, his body taut with anger and fear all blended with a pinch of mystery. Alan felt the smallest tinge of relief that Scott had assumed control, certain his brother would know what to do.

Another pregnant silence filled the air waves, only this time it was a silence of disbelief. Scott's breath came in gulps as nerves prickled in tension. He nervously kept licking his lips, trying to hide the action as the others stood by.

"_You…" _ The single word was spoken with such a low, venomous growl it was almost primal. _"You bast-... what the hell –"_

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"_You bast-... what the hell –"_

"Don't you dare threaten me," the Hood snarled, equalling in threat that what had been spat at him from the communications console. He hadn't recognised the voice at first, due to the signal's weakness and the static coating its mellow tone. But as soon as the name 'Scott Tracy' had been spoken a mental sledgehammer had smacked him full force with the identity.

It was his own voice – _his_ body's voice that now contained the essence of the eldest Tracy son.

Anxiousness sparked in his mind, jolting him forward towards the console to listen with intent. He could not be hearing that voice, he could not! His guards were supposed to have his prisoner tightly secured in the cabin he had specially vacated.

Obviously he had entrusted the task to a pair of idiots. _Trained monkeys could have done a better job, _the Hood growled to himself.

"_I swear to God... -ve hurt them…"_

Inwardly the Hood gleamed in pure delight. Hearing the alarm in Scott's – _his_ – voice gave him a sense of immense power. _Yes, Scott. I am here with two of your brothers_.

He could hold Scott's entire family hostage, and there wasn't a thing Scott could do to stop him.

_Remember Scott – one false move on your part and I shall take more than your body._

"Hurt who? We have no idea what you are talking about." Belah was taking no chances. He needed to call Scott's bluff – strengthen the bond and belief between himself and the two Tracy brothers standing by him.

"_You know _ex... _I'm talking about! ... took ov... my body... get at International Rescue! You knocked... tied me up! If you... as one finge... my brothers your spirit... body left to... turn to!"_

At first Belah had no idea how to respond. But then Alan provided the answer. With a snort Alan held up a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"Took over his body?! Finger a brother? Oh my God – that must be the _weirdest_ thing I've heard in ages!" The snigger increased. John simply kept his eyes trained on the older man's reaction.

Gradually a smile grew on Belah's face. Of course! He only needed to utilise the absurdity of the claims for them to be dismissed. It was all reverse psychology.

"I took _over_ your body? Well, that's a new one on me." Alan's snigger almost burst into a full-blown guffaw at Belah's statement, spitting all over the console.

The voice at the other end of the radio took on a pleading tone, trying to penetrate through the laughter. _"John, please... got t... me! ...ot me, John! ... _not me!_"_

Hearing such begging brought a full-blown grin to Belah's borrowed features. If only the Tracys realised they were laughing at their own brother.

The Hood glanced at Alan to find him in near hysterics. He glanced at John on his other side, and found the young man in serious thought.

Seeing such a humourless expression, the Hood's smile withdrew. He was afraid this brother was beginning to see through his disguise.

Alan stepped forward, eager to add his contribution. "I don't think it's International Rescue you want, pal. More like a psychiatrist!" Alan's cheeks were beginning to glow pink with giddiness.

"Alan, calm down," John chastised, wishing his younger brother would quieten for a moment. He knew it was their organisation's integrity Alan was placing at precarious risk. They had to maintain a professional manner at all times.

Taking command of communications Belah addressed the mystery caller once again. "Look, I don't know who you are or what it is you want, but I suggest you don't contact us again, or else there will be serious implications for everyone involved." His tone was sharp and to the point, his warning painfully clear.

Alan stifled back a last snigger, swallowed the last of his glee, then wandered over to the far side of the communications centre to check the readings on another computer, leaving his older brothers to finish the conversation.

Belah was about to disconnect the call when the caller gave a sudden final attempt to reach to them. _"Nine, two, twenty-twelve! Ask... John. Tell them... means to us... prove yoursel... son of a –"_

Belah quickly cut the statement short, the demand unnerving him. He didn't want to answer _that_ particular question. But from the look on John's face, that may well be what he would have to do.

"I'm going to report this to Dad straight away."

John turned towards the computer and began to enter some commands, but Belah quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him. John glanced quickly back at his brother, confusion in his eyes. "Scott?"

The Hood panicked, afraid that reporting the call would arouse suspicion, especially since it was the second call to be received that day of a similar nature and from the same location. Belah didn't know how Scott had managed to escape his captors, but with his prisoner now free he didn't want to risk the chance of his real identity being discovered. Though for now, Scott was trapped in Canada with no transport and poor communication, and his brothers simply thought of him as a madman.

With a calm control, Belah smiled with as much conviction as he could. "_I'll_ alert Dad when we get back home. Leave it to me."

Belah stared directly into John's blue irises. He slipped his hand into his pocket and took hold of the small copper treasure hidden within. His power from the bracelet – only a small fraction of the power he would normally have at his disposal – began to stream through him into John's body just as it had with Gordon the night previous. John's eyes began to lose focus, the light-headedness making him unsteady on his feet.

Belah assured the astronaut again, this time with the aid of supernatural forces to empower his words. "You do not need to inform our father of the call. It will not be necessary."

"It won't… be… necessary…" John repeated with a sluggish tongue.

"The contents of the recording are no longer of importance. You need to only remember that the call was not a threat to International Rescue. That is all."

John's blank stare bore into the Hood's bright blue eyes. Eventually the blonde nodded his head, understanding his commands.

"Good." Belah released John's arm, satisfied his secret would be protected, for now.

He watched as John's mind gradually regained control. At first he gawped at the older man with confusion. His brother smiled, as though nothing had happened and he had been waiting for John to reply.

John shook his head.

"John? Are you all right?" Belah simulated concern through Scott's voice.

He blinked a few times and shook his head to rid the cobwebs that had formed. "Er… yeah. Yeah, sure, I er… think." He lifted a hand to his forehead, willing any recent memories to return.

Alan chose that moment to join his older brothers. He was very eager to leave the space station behind for another month. A look of concern spread across his face though, as he caught a glance of John's confusion.

"Johnny? You okay?" Alan asked, placing a comforting hand on John's arm. He paused before answering, not really sure how to describe the feeling.

He couldn't, so he waved off the concern. "Yeah, I'm fine, guys. I just faded out there for a moment. Er… What… What were you saying, Scott?"

"I said I'd tell Dad about the radio call today. We don't need to worry him unnecessarily." Belah pretended to study the older blonde brother, faking the concern he knew would be expected of him as the oldest. "You look as though you need some sleep, John."

"No, really, I'm all right. Look, you two had better be getting back home in case we're needed for a rescue call. We don't want to be caught out with two men down."

"Okay then, if you insist." Alan sighed, mocking disappointment as though he was being kicked out of a party early. He looked at John and a playful smile danced on his lips. "Better get the cargo unloaded then – your stash of marshmallows for the month making up half the crates, no doubt."

"Hey, I never complain about your Jell-o kicks, do I?" John played back, scoring a point in his favour. "Besides, how's a man to keep himself occupied up here without the sweet, heavenly taste of marshmallows?"

"What do you think video games are for?" Alan raised an eyebrow. "Slice of pizza in one hand, cigarette lit and ready – "

" – and avoiding Dad in the process..."

"Kicking zombie ass! I could play some right now."

The two brothers continued their banter, heading for the hatch to Thunderbird Three to unload the supplies. Belah watched them for a moment, then followed on behind as he scanned the impressive Thunderbird Five to absorb as much detail as possible. The sophisticated, state-of-the-art computer systems fascinated him. This technology was certainly specially made and not very easy to obtain. All the equipment had been expertly crafted to suit the requirements intended for its use, and all had been constructed with the finest eye for detail.

_Three down, two to go,_ Belah noted to himself, crossing off Thunderbirds One, Three and Five from his mental list. _Then, my friends, you shall be exposed for who you really are, and my deserved fortune will be mine to take at last._

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Scott's anxiety levels had shot beyond the maximum. Hearing his own voice had been a scary experience to say the least. Coupled with the fact that it meant his kidnapper was up on Thunderbird Five with two of his brothers, Scott's iron nerves were melting under the heat of the tension.

To make the situation worse, the imposter had managed to twist the situation around, away from Scott's control. All seriousness had been sucked from Scott's words and thrown back at him with laughter, especially Alan. At that very thought Scott's anger blew at boiling point, released in part when he threw the radio down into the snow. Its landing was cushioned, but Scott took no notice.

"Damn it! You son of a bitch! When I get my hands on you you'll be sorry you ever heard the name 'Scott Tracy'!" he screamed into the wilderness.

The imposter's vehement promise reverberated in his head, replaying like a broken record over and over. _"…I suggest you don't contact... else... serious implications... everyone involved."_

The subtle meaning had been there, warning him to stay away. Deep down in his heart, Scott knew that wouldn't be possible.

Not while there was still life in his body.

As a last ditch attempt to try and prove himself, Scott had had a strike of a brainwave. Thinking of a fact only his family and friends would be aware of, he had blurted out, "Nine, two, twenty-twelve! Ask him – ask him John." Determination had spiked in his voice as it rose in volume and demand. "Tell them what that number means to us and prove yourself, you son of a bitch! I dare you!" But it had been useless, as the connection had been cut before he could even finish the sentence, and the threat.

John had been quiet through the exchange, leaving the imposter – or rather, who he thought to be the field commander, Scott sneered – to do most of the talking. Scott felt a slim glimmer of hope that the number he had blurted out would register a point with either of his brothers, or at least a small curiosity as to how a 'stranger' would know such a fact.

How a madman could possibly know their mother's date-of-birth.

Scott leaned forward and dropped to his knees, his head in his hands and a sigh of despair released from his lips. The weight of the chaos he was in bore down on his shoulders. The call to International Rescue's communications centre had been his last attempt, and he had blown it with style. There was nothing else he could do; no one he could contact, no living soul nearby to offer him a way to warn his family of the danger he could see so perfectly, but which lay blindingly under their eyes.

Gingerly he lifted a hand to run it through his hair, only to remember he had none.

For that split second, for that single moment in time and for the first time in his life, Scott was gripped by the void of loneliness.

And for a nanosecond, the thought of giving in flashed through his mind.

_No. No, Scott, you can't let him win. _He lifted his head and scanned the landscape ahead of him. _But then, how do I stop him, stranded in the middle of nowhere?_

Another defeated sigh escaped before he could stop it, only this time followed by a faint hum. Scott's head shot skyward, hearing the soft whisper of an engine. Immediately his senses were on full alert. He made haste to pocket the radio and withdraw the gun, outstretching it in front of him in his capable left hand.

Slowly Scott rose to a standing position, his hearing remaining focused on the hum close by. Bit by bit the humming grew louder, until he could distinguish the direction the sound was travelling in.

It was heading straight for him.

Suspicious that it was the wrong people looking for him, he ran for the safety of the trees. A few moments later the sound of a whirring engine approached his position.

His eyes widened as the sound became recognisable. Looking towards the open horizon from where he had been previously knelt, Scott recognised the outline of the object crossing the horizon.

The reflective surface of the aircraft split the sunlight into its separate colourful elements. Its white exterior blended with the greyness of the skies through which it soared with little effort. Imposing and grand, like a falcon flying high above the earth.

Scott watched with fascination as the craft neared his position, then whizzed low overhead, passing the trees in a blur. He felt the pangs in his heart, calling out to his own 'bird at home. The despaired look returned to his face again as he continued to watch the plane disappear past the trees.

_Funny,_ he thought, _that plane was flying extremely close to the tree line. Planes only fly that low when they're coming in to land…_

Like the speed of a bolt of lightning Scott scrambled through the patch of dense forest, up the small slope towards the rocky edge of the hill. Breaking through the tree line, he stood tall to scan the horizon. He shielded his gaze from the blaring sunlight, and eventually his searching eyes rested on the small outline of the aircraft once again.

The _descending_ aircraft.

That could mean only one thing – there had to be an airfield nearby.

His body filled with an adrenaline-fuelled excitement, reaching a level unlike he felt since he was a child at Christmas. At last there appeared to be a light at the end of the tunnel; a spark of genuine hope to resolve his crisis.

Watching the plane disappear behind a small outcrop of trees, he knew he had to be close to the airfield. It would be quite a walk yet, but there was a chance for him to escape this God-forsaken terrain.

With renewed energy and an even brighter hope Scott began the descent down yet another slippery slope, only this time not running in fear for his life. That fact didn't slow him down at all however, as eager he was to leave behind this desolate and bleak place he had been in for what felt like eternity. He hurried on to head in the direction he had seen the plane fly. It was a sign, it had to be.

Various questions raced through his head, such as what he was going to do once he arrived at the airfield. He couldn't simply sign his name and hire a plane for the day. Apart from the obvious lack of money or credentials, he knew all the planes would be privately owned.

No, there was only one possible solution he could think of as he pushed onward through the thick snow-laden terrain. He would have to hijack – or rather, _borrow_ – a plane. For now the thought was thrown to the back of his mind. He would deal with that problem later.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Their set-up had been simple: form a chain, and pass along the parcels of supplies. Alan was in Thunderbird Three passing each parcel to Scott, who in turn passed them to John. A tidy mountain formation was being formed from the piles of boxes and crates containing all of John's food rations and countless other items he would need for the month-long shift. Not to mention the various early Christmas presents from his family, though that special day was just over three weeks away.

Brains had been working to modify Braman to a level where he would be more than capable of relieving the Tracy brothers of their space duties during the festive season, at least. None of them liked to spend Christmas away from family, but their sense of duty quelled any complaints. For now Braman wasn't completely compatible with the station's computer software, nor was he fully capable of judging serious distress calls from those that took lower priority. Human judgement was still preferred to prevail for such calls.

John gave a heartfelt sigh. He knew this year was his turn to miss the family gathering. All the brothers had opted to rotate, taking it in turns as to who missed Christmas day and who missed Thanksgiving. The turkey had been sublime to his taste buds, John recalled whilst subconsciously licking his lips.

With the last of the crates manoeuvred onto Five, the three brothers headed back into the main communications room to check for any messages. There were none.

"Well, looks like it might be a quiet afternoon for you, John." Alan mused aloud, watching the panels on the console remain inactive.

"Fingers crossed, it might stay this way for a few days." Though John knew, deep down, that would be hoping for a small miracle.

Alan moved away to join Scott, seeking conversation there instead. John was relieved for the peaceful respite in a small way. He felt a knot twist in his gut; a feeling he couldn't place but knew wasn't intending to unravel any time soon. Had there just been a distress call? Had something occurred that he couldn't recall? The nagging feeling refused to dispel, leaving him to scratch his head in wonder.

Absently his ears tuned into the sound of Alan's voice over by the digital recorder. Alan didn't always find it easy to talk to Scott, with the nine-year age gap between them and the view that Scott was almost the mirror image of their father. He was another authority figure, who Alan – and Gordon, to a point – preferred to avoid upsetting, like cats avoided water.

Alan was busy at a computer, typing on some commands on the console. Scott watched curiously over his brother's shoulder. "What're you doing?"

"I'm downloading a copy of the file to Tracy Island's server. Dad's going to want to hear this and possibly have it analysed."

Scott's face blanched, though Alan never noticed. For a few moments there was a brief pause between the two – neither willing to start a new topic of conversation. Uncomfortable with the ever expanding silence, Alan sought to compound it with a question. "What did Mom's birth date have to do with anything, Scott?"

"What?" The word was blurted out too hastily and too suspiciously.

"The call we got. He mentioned something about Mom's birth date, you know, being 2nd September. What was that all about? And how did he know about it?"

Scott nodded as the recollection of the conversation resurfaced. "That's a good question, Alan. How did he know? Dad definitely should hear about this, and I'll be the one to tell him." Scott nudged Alan away from the console, gesturing for him to take over command. Alan shrugged, not objecting to the order.

John overheard though, frowning in part as to why Scott was so adamant that he, and he alone, inform their father of the call. And why not immediately.

That gnawing twist in his gut returned, tighter than ever, squeezing every ounce of confidence out of him. It was strangling his logical thoughts.

Behind him, Alan and Scott stepped through the hatch, heading to the private quarters. Hearing the hiss of the mechanism closing, John seized the opportunity and swivelled himself around to the console connecting Five with Base. A few taps later, and he had established a connection with the people who could understand his dilemma the best.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Back on Base, everything was as routine as could be. Grandma was busying herself in the kitchen, baking her legendary pies and cookies. Tin-Tin was acting as secretary to Jeff as he dictated his important letters whilst trying to clear some of the paperwork off his desk.

Gordon and Virgil were attending to their Thunderbirds, carrying out much-needed and overdue maintenance. Thunderbird Four hadn't been required as much for rescues, so once Gordon had finished up the paperwork he had offered to lend a hand to his older brother. Virgil had accepted the offer with sincere gratitude.

Down in the underground launch bay the atmosphere was quiet. The peace was uncommon but not unwelcome. It allowed time for recuperation before the next call-out. Virgil could certainly agree with that view, as he now stood high on a scaffold peering into the many intricate wirings and delicate circuitry underneath Thunderbird Two's cockpit.

Holding his torch between his teeth, he aimed the beam of light into the great machine's head to gain a better view of the troublesome culprit. Taking hold of the electrical component and giving it a gentle pull, he released it from its housing, careful not to pull the wires with it that were soldered in place.

He spat out the torch from his mouth. "All right, Gordon, try that." His voice was muffled partly from the enclosed space he worked in – barely large enough to squeeze his broad frame into.

A muffled _"F.A.B." _from his watch informed Virgil that the aquanaut had heard him. A few moments later he received the negative reply.

"_Sorry Virg, it's still not registering."_

Virgil screwed his face in annoyance. Some of the ship's diagnostic software had detected a problem – a vital system in measuring the aircraft's airspeed wasn't working. The pitot tube had become blocked with ice after their rescue in Canada – not a completely major issue, but one that needed to be resolved as soon as possible. The static ports hadn't been blocked, meaning only the airspeed indicators had been affected, and Virgil had been able to fly home safely without his airspeed instrumentation with a little help from Alan. But it was a repair they needed to carry out, lest the static ports failed, and all airspeed and altimeter readings fail. Virgil didn't want to relive the horror of almost crashing in Thunderbird Two again as he had done with the incident with the Sentinel.

The craft's pilot leaned back for a moment and went through his mental checklist. There had been no problems with the wiring, and the sensors had passed his inspection. There was only one thing he could think of that could be causing the problem. "Damn it," he cursed to himself.

"_What's the verdict, Virg?"_ sprang the voice from his watch.

"I think the heating element's gone in the pitot tube," came the response, a huff of resignation following.

"_Damn, not good. How long is that going to take to replace?"_

The words were bitter as they left Virgil's lips, the thought of the work he needed to do souring the fact his afternoon wasn't going to be as relaxed as he'd hoped. "A couple of hours, with your help."

He didn't need to see Gordon's face to know he'd come to the same realisation as Virgil. _"F.A.B."_

Wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his overalls, Virgil looked up to his girl and patted her nose. "Could've been worse, my beauty." Just then Virgil's wrist comm. began to vibrate, signalling an incoming call. "Not a call-out now," he groaned. It was just getting better and better. He answered the call. "Virgil here."

John's crinkled face replaced the watch face, anxiety creasing his brow and seeping into his eyes. _"Hey, Virgil."_

"John? What is it? What's wrong?"

"_Something's wrong, I know that much, but I don't know what."_ John eyed behind him to check if Alan or Scott had returned yet. Virgil caught the gesture, his frown deepening.

"John?" Virgil prodded gently. John had lowered his head, only lifting his eyes in response to look at his brothers.

"_We got another one of those calls about an hour ago. Only this time…"_ He trailed off, turning to the side to look once more behind him. _"I think I know what's wrong with Scott."_

Honey-burned eyes scrutinised the tiny screen, waiting to hear a further explanation from John. When he failed to elaborate, Virgil nudged him again. "John, what's wrong?"

John was visibly uncomfortable. Running a hand through his blonde locks he sighed, keeping his head low as he leaned on the console_. "It's a bizarre theory, but it's the only one that makes sense. I think…"_

There was an urgent beeping nearby, snatching John's attention away from the subject. _"Hold on a second."_ Quickly moving over to the communications console, he opened the channel to accept the call. _"This is International Rescue, receiving your call."_

A high-pitched voice immediately responded, anguished cries spilling out in a language John recognised straight away as Japanese. Typing a command into the computer, the message was translated into English and relayed through the speaker in Virgil's wrist comm.

Eventually John turned back to his brothers, a manner of professionalism in place_. "There's been a major fire in Tokyo, Japan. The top five floors in an apartment block are ablaze. The structure's very unstable, and local emergency services are struggling to regain control of the situation."_

Both brothers knew their father and brother Gordon would have been patched in to listen to the report also.

With practised speed Virgil headed to the cockpit to prepare Thunderbird Two for lift-off, whilst Gordon ran to the storage bay to ready their equipment.

"Thanks John. Let Dad know we're in Thunderbird Two, ready to go."

"_F.A.B., Virgil. Good luck."_

"Oh and John? We'll continue the conversation once we've finished."

"_Sure thing, Virg."_ John smiled, a little sheepish, knowing it would have to come out sooner rather than later. He disconnected the call to Virgil's wrist comm.

Straight away Virgil opened the link to his younger brother to deliver his orders. As the eldest on the island, Virgil naturally assumed control in Scott's absence.

"Gords, we're going to need the extra tanks of diacetyline as well as the fire suits."

"_F.A.B. Fire suits are on board, as well as the oxygen and diacetyline tanks. Are we going to be ok flying without the repairs?"_

"We'll be ok, so long as we don't fly through freezing temperatures."

Virgil started the pre-flight diagnostics, whilst pressing the required buttons to manoeuvre the pod containing the diacetyline cage to underneath his giant 'bird. Once the pod was in place, the carrier was lowered until the giant electromagnetic locks clicked into place.

Within minutes the green carrier was ready to proceed down the runway, revealing itself to the outside world as the cliff side door dropped into place. The palm trees folded back in submission, and the mighty 'bird powered forward towards her hydraulic ramp, ready to ascend to the heavens once more.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

John Tracy looked into the bright eyes of his father, the bond of trust as strong as ever. If there was one thing John could always rely on his father for, it was his unwavering source of strength and support.

"_Virgil and Gordon are already in Thunderbird Two, preparing to launch."_

His father's confidence radiated from him. There was an unspoken sense of duty they all carried in their hearts whenever they were called to action, and they could see just how much it made their father proud. "F.A.B. John. Keep me informed of their progress."

The live feed from the space station switched back to the static portrait of his middle son. Once again the lounge was plunged into a taut silence, one which always descended upon the house when a rescue had been initiated, and one which refused to budge until the boys returned home safely. It was a suffocating but brief silence as Jeff's videophone began to beep for attention on his private line.

"Hello, Jeff Tracy speaking."

The picture of a rather worried, dark-haired young man came into focus. _"Good afternoon, Sir,"_ he started, a somewhat nervous edge to his tone. _"I'm sorry to have to call you like this, but I'm afraid an emergency meeting has been summoned in your New York office. There's an important matter to discuss, concerning the firm's latest project."_

Jeff frowned in concern at the young man's tone. "Emergency meeting? James, what's going on?"

Before James could continue, an older man approached from behind to appear on screen, placing himself between the young assistant and the video screen. _"Sorry Jeff, but this is serious. We've had a call from the engineers telling us there's a defect with the TC225 engine, and it looks like it's going to take time to repair. Time we, unfortunately, don't have, since the final deadline for the TC225s is due in less than…"_ he looked quickly at his watch, made his calculations. _"…in less than twenty six hours. We need an urgent plan of action."_

Jeff contemplated the words, the implications of his friend's explanation circling his mind. "Marcus, are the rest of the board aware of this?"

Jeff's long-time friend Marcus Spellman nodded his head in reply. _"We're all waiting on you, Jeff. I'm sorry, but this can't wait."_

Jeff was caught between a rock and a hard place. He was needed to take command of International Rescue's base, but at the same time there was an urgent situation developing in Tracy Industries. From across the room Tin-Tin smiled, sympathising with him, a silent offer of assistance.

"Okay, Marcus. I'll head the meeting from my study. Give me a couple of minutes to gather my paperwork." For Jeff, this silently translated as 'give me a couple of minutes to find cover for International Rescue's base'.

"_Sure thing, Jeff."_ The video link of the grey-haired man disappeared, replaced by a blank screen.

Jeff rustled the papers together that scattered across his desk into reasonably neat piles. Turning to Tin-Tin, his eyes held a note of small pleading. "Tin-Tin, I hate to ask this of you, but…"

"Of course, Mr. Tracy. I will take care of command here." She was more than willing to help with the workload. When he appeared to hesitate, she reassured him. "Please, don't worry. Go and see to the meeting. Tracy Corporation needs you more than International Rescue right now."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin. I really appreciate it." Jeff smiled, relieved and grateful. If there was one thing he hated to do it was to leave the base empty without someone available to answer any calls from his team.

He swiftly made his way from the lounge to his study next door, knowing it was the one room where he wouldn't be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

Tin-Tin took her position behind the command desk, and intertwined her fingers as she waited for any news.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

A low, sharp whistle emitted from behind John as further reports of the fire came through the speaker. "It sounds bad."

John nodded his agreement to Alan's statement. "Let's hope Gordon and Virgil can get there in time to help those trapped in the top floors."

Neither of the blonde brothers had noticed Scott's brief absence, but didn't miss his return as he stood by Alan's side once again. He flashed a short smile as Alan looked to him with curiosity.

Before Alan could say anything, Scott blurted out, "All right, John, I think it's time we headed back to Base."

John twisted around to view his older brother, ready for his goodbyes. "Okay then. You guys take care travelling back." He reached over to Alan to embrace him in a farewell hug. "You behave yourself, Alan," he whispered into the young blonde's ear, knowing full well it was a futile gesture and that he wasn't willing to place bets on the outcome of such a statement.

"Watch out for him, Scott, he's got something planned." John reached for his older brother and wrapped his arms around him, a small "Hey!" of protest drifting from Alan's direction. He felt Scott stiffen at the contact, but then relax and return his embrace.

The youngest and eldest Tracys turned towards the hatch, on their way to Thunderbird Three. Within a quarter of an hour the retro rockets were firing and the shuttle was on its journey back to Earth.

With their absence the room felt empty; a stealthy void consuming the air left still by the silence. John was used to being alone – in fact, he often preferred the slow movement of time solitude had to offer over the bustling speed found on Earth below. People seemed to be in such a desperate hurry to travel from A to B, cutting corners and breaking the speed limit to save time. Whereas up here, he didn't seem to even notice time existed.

Without realising it his fingers had started tapping out a random rhythm on the desk, the lack of reports or updates giving him little to partake in. Gazing out at the wilderness of space, he watched the constellations play out before him in their dazzling spectacle of a show, millions of years in the making and for one night only.

His mind floated in a sea of memories, drifting him back to a time when Scott had discovered his secret hobby when he was around ten years old. His mother, to an extent, had shared his hobby, though she hadn't studied the art of astronomy to such a degree as her middle son. John's passion for the subject blossomed; he read book after book until he had memorised every word and fact from the first page to the last. Knowledge of the astral bodies had been soaked up by his desire to learn more, but his shyness and relatively quiet nature meant he didn't share such knowledge of his hobby with anyone else. This was his special place, his secret space.

That was, until Scott found him outside one night, gazing up at the stars.

Scott was a hard brother to grow close to, John had found. They were almost complete opposites of each other – Scott the bold, daring type, while John preferred the quiet backseat to adventure. Where Scott would be quick and intuitive, John was slower but more methodical in approach. His approach felt safer, less intrusive and less dramatic. So when Scott had discovered him stargazing one night in the middle of summer, John had almost burned up with embarrassment.

But instead of teasing him, as John had expected, Scott had sat down and had begun talking to him, asking him questions about the wonders of the solar system. John had been more than happy to talk away, breaking through his timid shell that encased his true persona. Talk of the stars had led on to other more intimate subjects – the meaning of life, their future, and, more painfully, their mother. John's relations to the stars hadn't ended with just his fascination for them. They brought forth many memories and emotions of times he had spent with his mother, huddled next to her with a bowl of marshmallows, an astronomy book and a spyglass.

Looking up to the stars, he saw himself reflected back on them, and the piece of his life that was missing.

That night, he had learned far more about his older brother than he had in the whole ten years of his life. Scott had revealed a softer side to himself – one of a young man more mature than his fifteen years should be. One more open to differences of opinion – of his own, and of his brothers. One more aware of the consequences of such opinions and choices, and one all too painfully aware of just how important family was. John was proud to have every minute of such memories to look back on.

That's when Scott had given him his nickname that only he and Scott shared. To Scott, John had become 'Star Man', whilst Scott had become the 'Hot Shot'. Though such nicknames had faded into obscure usage, they still surfaced from time to time.

John heaved a hearty sigh. Something wasn't sitting right between him and Scott. Things felt stretched between them, made more blatantly obvious by the lack of chit-chat that normally occurred. Of course Scott was talking to him, but there was more to it than that.

Scott's body language was all wrong to begin with. His manner was so abnormal at times, and non-existent at others. John wondered if his theory was as _out there_ as he had originally thought.

_This would be an excellent case for Mulder and Scully,_ John mused.

The young man wanted to express his feelings over the matter so urgently, his mind hyper-analysing all the facts to a point of burn out. But knew he would have to wait. Right now his brothers were all occupied in some way or another, either on rescues or heading back to Earth. He supposed there was always his father…

John made the snap decision to call Base. Reaching out, his finger froze over the button that would connect the call. It hovered for seconds, before lowering back to the desk.

He knew this probably wasn't the best time to voice such concerns, with Virgil and Gordon being away on rescue. What if they needed to contact Base for whatever reason? They would need their father's undivided attention.

But if his theory was correct, or at least held some amount of truth, then his father would need to be made aware of it. No matter how crazy it seemed.

His finger hovered over the console again, only this time descending to press the button. The computer bleeped an acknowledgement, and the call was placed.

His call was answered with little delay, but John was caught off-balance when it was Tin-Tin's image that appeared before him. "Tin-Tin? Where's Dad? Is everything all right?" He found himself reeling off the questions in quick succession.

"_Hello, John. I'm afraid your father was called away to an important meeting, something to do with the Tracy Corp. office in New York. Can I help you?"_

In a way John was relieved it hadn't been his father who had answered. Although he was more than comfortable talking to his father about most things, there was the rare occasion where he felt safer talking to one of his brothers. Often it would be Gordon or Virgil, but of course they were unavailable.

"Er… Well…" John faltered, unsure how to proceed. The brothers all thought of Tin-Tin as the little sister their parents never had. They were all close to the young woman, and all very protective of her. Alan especially, sharing many of his deepest, darkest fears with her and his most precious secrets. Though Alan was, in a way, very close to Gordon on many levels, it was his intimate side he tended to share with Tin-Tin.

John knew he could trust Tin-Tin – he could trust her with his life – but there were some things only a blood brother could pick up on; could read 'between the lines'. Instead, clearing his throat, John took a diverted approach. "Tin-Tin, is there such a thing as… well, as switching bodies with someone? I mean, is it possible?"

A frown answered him. _"Switching bodies? You mean, in a spiritual sense?"_ When John seemed to pause again, considering his answer, Tin-Tin added, _"What is it, John? What's on your mind?"_

A momentary pause, followed by a soft sigh. "I don't know, Tin-Tin. This might sound really strange, but I don't think Scott is who we think he is." He took a steadying breath before releasing the killer line. "I don't think Scott is there at all…" John trailed off, realising Tin-Tin's gaze had shifted over to the side.

Tin-Tin's attention had been snagged by the bleeping near to John's portrait. At John's end of the line it was very faint but recognisable as the sound of one of the portraits signalling for immediate attention. As politely as she could Tin-Tin interrupted John's call. _"I'm sorry John, but there's a call coming in from Virgil."_

"F.A.B., Tin-Tin. I'll talk to you later." John hastily cut the connection, feeling somewhat disappointed that his words hadn't been heeded, but understanding at the same time. Another nervous hand ran through his hair, parting his waves of blonde locks. He would have to wait. He knew he couldn't interrupt his father's meeting without being chewed out for it. Not for a simple hunch.

But this was more than a hunch. He was fairly certain he could back up his claims.

He knew, somewhere in the deep, emotional pit he called his heart, that it couldn't be Scott Tracy who was now returning home in Thunderbird Three with their – _his_ – youngest brother. He knew it couldn't be Scott Tracy who had been reluctant to report the most recent call to their father, even though they had been given such instructions to do so.

He knew it couldn't have been Scott Tracy who had collapsed in Canada, cutting his forehead.

What John _had _noted, now with startling crystal clarity as the hypothesis kept running over and over through his head, was that the caller on the radio had sounded far more like the Scott Tracy he had know for the whole of his twenty-eight years of existence.

The caller who was now trapped in Canada, all alone…


	11. No News Is No News?

**Chapter 10: No News Is...No News? (Or The Best Kept Secret)**

He was exhausted beyond all belief. But it was his personal belief that had driven him forward the entire way.

Scott wondered if he would eventually lose his eye sight if he didn't find a way to block out the intense glare from the crisp, white snow. Covering metre after metre stride after stride, he could sense a migraine building. Whether it was _his_ migraine or one developing from the imposter's ache-riddled body he wasn't certain. It hurt too much to even contemplate the 'for' and 'against' arguments. Philosophy was more of John's area of interest.

With aching muscles and an equally aching heart, Scott pulled his body up yet another slippery slope, the snow deepening with every step. He didn't know how long he had been walking for, but it was taking its toll on his legs. But as he reached the summit of the hill, his hopes soared.

There, a few hundred feet from his position, was the most beautiful sight he had seen in a very long time.

The airfield was only small in comparison to many airports he had visited, but a huge wave of welcomed relief washed over him at the sight.

He dug deep to draw upon the last sources of energy he had, and started to run towards the wire fence that separated the landing strip from the surrounding grass borders and open plains. A couple of times Scott felt his footing give way, almost sliding down to the bottom of the hill flat out on his back. He'd done that once today, he didn't really want to break another hand trying to ski without skis.

Without thinking he stretched out his right hand to help steady his footing. The aggressive pain that bit into his muscles was an agonising reminder, forcing him to hiss and curse out loud. The bruise was very dark around the thumb joint, in stark contrast to the surrounding skin.

After many sliding steps he reached the base of the slope. Ahead of him the sight of the tarmac made his head spin with excitement – an oasis in the middle of a dry desert. And, even better, there was a plane waiting for him.

He feared it was all a mirage caused by fatigue and dehydration. But rubbing his eyes hard and pinching his arm the image of the plane didn't falter, proving it was real. His smile of hope was just as real.

Scott dragged his bedraggled, tired, stressed being towards the airfield, his mind racing with thoughts of the next step in his plan to reach home.

It wasn't going to be easy.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

With exaggerated caution using his one good hand, Scott lifted himself over the fence. Inside his mind, he was climbing the fence on the boundary between desolation and hope.

He kept low, keeping behind cover, for fear of being seen. He suspected he was wearing the face of a wanted criminal, and the worst scenario to happen now would be to be recognised, arrested, and sent away, leaving his family vulnerable.

It would be his worst nightmare.

The imposter would be living the life of paradise, rich no doubt from the revelation of I.R.'s secrets. Either that, or he could use the magnificent machines for his own purposes.

The fate of his family, in whichever outcome occurred, would more than likely be fatal. They would be disposed of quickly and quietly, the only solace coming from if they didn't suffer. But Scott wasn't prepared to let anyone threaten those he loved most in the whole world.

With that sobering thought Scott sprinted towards the aircraft, already out on the tarmac prepared for take-off. There were a handful of planes parked nearby, perhaps five at the most, Scott noted. But he knew his craft well, the years in the Air Force and an immense interest in flying helping him to identify the planes with ease. The one already sat waiting on the runway was an Extra EA-600; a German plane he knew had a long range in terms of flying. It was speedy too.

The pilot of the craft was leaning into the cockpit, checking his equipment and packing his things securely. Scott pulled the gun from his pocket, nerves tingling with anticipation. It wasn't his style to threaten anyone with a gun, but it was for the greater good.

Taking several breaths, his mind ran through the scenario time and time again. _Think like a bad ass… Think like a bad ass…_

_How would the Hood approach this?_ Scott mused, the only bad guy that came to mind. He tried to remember the drama classes he had taken at school. It hadn't been his strongest subject, admittedly, but any memory of 'how to act like an evil psycho who wanted to rule the world' would help his situation right now.

Walking tall, with broad shoulders pulled back, Scott made his way to the plane, temptation for freedom making his lips dry and throat close shut. Though the afternoon sun was high, his core had frozen.

Metres reduced to centimetres as he closed in on his target. It was now or never…

"Step away from the plane!" he called to his unsuspecting victim, still holding his weapon by his side, not wanting to reveal the gun unless it was absolutely necessary. The pilot froze in his actions, half-leant into the cockpit over the instruments. He turned to face Scott, who had the coldest expression he could muster. At first the man appeared to be squaring up to Scott, straightening his stance to face him with his full 6'2" of height. Scott could feel the vibes of warning vibrate within him, and quickly lifted the gun out in front of him, holding his injured hand underneath his left for balance.

At the sight of the weapon the man backed down. His dark hair was flicked into his hazel eyes by the chilly wind, but he didn't dare move to brush it back. He stared down the barrel, directly into the icy, steel, no-nonsense eyes of his would-be captor. He gave out a shaky breath.

Without waiting for the order the pilot held up a pair of trembling hands to show he was unarmed. Eyes transfixed forward, he moved away from the craft, pushing the door shut. Scott side-stepped with him, keeping his eyes locked with the pilot's. He was about to grab hold of the door until he realised his little problem.

He couldn't open the cockpit door and hold the gun at the same time. Not at least without risking his 'hostage' attacking once his back was turned.

In a decisive moment Scott stepped back from the plane, towards the tail. Gesturing to the door, Scott ordered, "Open the door."

The pilot was quick to obey, opening the door then stepping away, returning his hands to the air.

"Move the chocks," Scott growled, trying to keep up his evil facade. Control was part of his nature, but not usually with the degrading of others.

The man obeyed, nodding his head as he kneeled low to reach the ropes on the wheel-chocks. Pulling them free of the wheels, he threw them back then returned to his original stance with his empty hands visible beside his head. Scott felt the guilt well up in his stomach, but he knew he wouldn't be doing any of this if it wasn't necessary.

The man took a couple of shaky deep breaths. "Please, why are you doing this?" Scott recognised the look of fear in his eyes and instantly regretted even looking into them. His swallow to clear the tightness in his throat was too audible. He puffed out his chest to reassert his authority.

"It's an emergency. I need to rescue…" He stopped mid-sentence, thinking it better not to give too much information away to a complete stranger. "You'll get it back, I promise."

He was about to enter the aircraft when he reconsidered his position. Turning back to the plane's owner, he issued his next orders. "I want you to place your hands on your head, and turn around slowly until your back is facing me." He almost snarled the commands out. He was taking his new role frighteningly seriously.

In unquestioned obedience the man turned, his fingers interlocked behind his head. His posture aired a sense of reluctance, unsure of whether he would receive a bullet in his back if he dared to pull his eyes off the gun for even more than a second.

Scott waited until the pilot had completed his turn, then continued his orders. "Okay, now I want you to start walking. And I want you to keep on walking without turning back." The man nodded his head in understanding, trying to turn his head ever so slightly to look at Scott's sneering face. He didn't immediately comply, forcing Scott to add, "Off you go then."

The man obeyed, and within minutes the distance between them had increased three-fold. His steps were heavy and quick, wanting to place as much of the tarmac between him and the weapon pointed at his head.

He didn't dare turn back.

Scott watched as the man walked away, lowering his gun but keeping watch until there was enough distance that the man would have to run in order to stop Scott from taking off.

Quickly Scott threw in the gun, pulled himself into the cockpit and slammed the door shut, locking it in place. He reached over to the opposite door and engaged its locking mechanism, ensuring the pilot wouldn't be able to enter if he tried to stop him. A quick glance out of the side window showed Scott that the pilot hadn't dared to look back as he continued to walk towards the fence.

The International Rescue pilot wished with all his heart that he hadn't had to use the gun in such a way. He hated weapons, and none more so than guns, but it _was_ an emergency. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

A scan of the instruments told him the plane had been recently refuelled, along with necessary pressure and other important gauges. Removing the locking pin from the control column, Scott placed a hand carefully on the controls, his right hand held protectively against his chest.

The layout of the instrument panels was familiar, almost similar to the Tracy jets back on Tracy Island. He ran through the various pre-flight checks in his head, mentally ticking off each as he went. Within a minute the engine was started, the flaps extended and the accelerator pressed. The small aircraft began to taxi down the runway, gaining necessary speed to lift it towards the grey Canadian skies above.

At the sound of the engine starting the aircraft's owner turned in complete shock, as though he hadn't believed any of this was happening until now. He was frozen to the spot as he watched his beloved plane motor down the runway, heading to a destination he did not know. Anger began to assume command as his legs regained some semblance of control, and in a flash he found himself running after his craft, shouting "Hey! Stop! Come back with my plane!" at the top of his lungs.

Scott could barely hear the shouts of protests, but he had no doubt there was some colourful language escaping from the man's lips. He could sympathise with all his heart – he would use exactly the same language if someone had stolen Thunderbird One from under his very nose.

He was reminded of how his brother Gordon could never understand the close bond the eldest Tracy sibling had with his treasured 'bird. "She's an over-grown dart – a pencil with a couple of rules taped to either side," he'd commented, earning him a death-glare only Scott, as the oldest, had mastered and could deliver.

"Well, Thunderbird Four is an inflated goldfish, but you don't hear me complain." That had been Scott's fatal error – he had tried to out-pun his younger brother, and it had cost him dearly. Scott had taken a bath one afternoon to wash away the stress from his muscles when Gordon had played his prank.

It hadn't been just Scott in the bath on that occasion.

John had barely stopped laughing when he told Virgil the story, adding that he didn't know who was more shocked – Scott, or the goldfish.

"I think it came close to having a heart attack. The poor thing nearly drowned!" John had sputtered out between breaths.

Yes, Gordon had outsmarted him that day. But one thing was true of all his brothers – they may all be fiercely attached to their Thunderbird machines, but most importantly, they remained loyal to each other.

It was this very fierce loyalty and love they held for one another that was now driving Scott to such desperate measures. To protect his brothers he was prepared to give anything – even his own life.

With a shudder the plane began to lift, ascending towards the milky white clouds that hung motionlessly in the winter sky. Shuddering into the headwind, he soared over the hill he had skidded down earlier in his journey; his footprints still visible, etched into the landscape.

Step by step, his journey was hopefully nearing its end. Unless Lady Luck had other ideas, a happy ending.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"_So you see, Jeff, all fifty two engines have the same fault. We need further tests to determine for sure where the problem lies. But it means we're never going to make the deadlines, unless there's an extension." _

Jeff ran a stressed hand through his hair, wanting to pull on the fine strands in frustration. This meeting was not going as smoothly as he'd hoped. "I understand what you're saying, Marcus. But why wasn't this fault found earlier?"

The meeting had already lasted 45 minutes, and if Jeff's grumbling gut was anything to go by he had a feeling it wasn't even half way through. As much as he was proud of his company and the successes they had achieved, the work needed to be injected into the business was tiring and stressful, often pushing Jeff to his limit. But it was such dedication, and the resulting funding, that International Rescue needed in order to survive. It was for that most important reason that Jeff was prepared to wrestle with the hardships and frustration of involving himself directly in the running of the company, rather than leave it in the hands of an assistant. Not that he didn't trust them to run things.

Marcus blew out a short breath in thought. _"To be honest, we're not sure. The problem should have presented itself sooner, but… Well, we can't understand it." _

As Marcus continued to explain the details Jeff's mind briefly pondered over his sons and their current locations. Scott and Alan weren't due back for at least another hour. He was confident those two would be fine, especially Alan, who could handle Thunderbird Three as well as he could handle a race car.

He wondered how Gordon and Virgil were coping over in Japan, anxious that he hadn't heard anything from them for almost an hour. He knew if there had been any serious problems with the rescue then Tin-Tin would have interrupted the meeting.

But as their father, he couldn't help but worry.

Jeff waited until Marcus paused midway before interrupting. "Excuse me, Marcus – I have an urgent call to answer."

"_No problem Jeff. We're not going anywhere."_

Jeff pressed a button on his desk panel and the video screen on the wall in front of him was muted. Pressing another button patched him through to the lounge via an audio link. "Tin-Tin?"

"_Yes, Mr. Tracy?"_

"Has there been any news on the rescue?"

The sweet, mellow voice replied, _"I've just spoken to Virgil. The fire has spread to several of the lower floors. The diacetyline has helped to keep the fire contained. Gordon and Virgil are both inside the apartment block trying to find the survivors, while John has control of Thunderbird Two remotely."_

Tin-Tin smiled, a twinkle in her eye. _"So far, Mr. Tracy, the rescue appears to be running as smoothly as it can be."_

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"Ow! Damn it!" Gordon cursed, his shin having found a very hard surface to smack in to. Part of the wall had collapsed in one of the apartments and he had discovered this the hard way, by ramming his leg into some of the rubble. Virgil wasn't far behind, his face of concern hidden beneath the fire protection suit he was wearing.

"You okay, Gords?"

"Yeah, I'm all right. Looks like another bruise to add to my ever-expanding collection." Gordon shrugged off the concern from his older brother, knowing it was an occupational hazard for injuries, major and minor.

"How are things going at your end, John?"

There was a pause before John answered. _"Just great, Virg. Just great."_

Virgil could hear the strain in his younger brother's voice. "Everything okay up there?"

Both earth-bound brothers heard a string of curses spill from John's mouth, before a murmured _"That's it! Good girl!"_ echoed through their earpieces.

"There's nothing like a little coaxing to get her to co-operate."

"_How do you handle her so well, Virgil? I mean, she's so temperamental sometimes. A gust of wind and she's rocking all over the place."_

Virgil smirked, but didn't see Gordon's more mischievous one. "You've got to know how to approach her. Gentle, but firm."

"Is that how you treat all the girls you love, Virgil?"

If he could have, Virgil would have taken that line to be his cue to ruffle Gordon's red locks, the action only prevented by the oxygen masks they were wearing. "Only the ones I love," he answered playfully. Turning his attention back to his brother in space, Virgil asked, "John, can you run a scan on the building again and confirm this level's empty?"

"_F.A.B. Virgil, just give me a moment."_ John typed in the commands, audible as he tapped the keys.

Virgil turned to Gordon, a smile plastered on his face. "Hey, at least I don't small talk with my 'bird."

"Small talk? _You_ can talk!"

"'Golden Girl', that's your nickname for Four, right?"

A bleep signalled an incoming call. _"The scan shows no more survivors on level eighteen, but there are vitals showing underneath your current location."_

"F.A.B. John. We're on our way. You'd better manoeuvre Thunderbird Two and the cage closer to the windows on the east side, ready for us." Virgil spoke, his voice authoritative but steady as acting field commander in Scott's absence.

"_F.A.B. Be careful."_

Both rescuers turned towards the stairwell, taking care with the hot steel of the handrail as they descended down the steps. The fire was to the side of where they were, but was closing in fast. It had already knocked out the elevators and the power to the top floors. Virgil and Gordon were relying on their powerful torches to enable them to see the route they were taking, made all the worse by the debris falling around them and the thick, choking smoke that smothered them.

Outside Thunderbird Two juddered in descent, lowering the cage towards the windows that were still intact. John held her as steady as he could against the force of the winds outside, taking care to keep her near to the building but not so close as to risk a collision if the winds were to bite unexpectedly.

The remote control in Thunderbird Five was a new addition, allowing either John or Alan to access any of the Thunderbird craft should the need arise. For this rescue it was necessary for Virgil to go along with Gordon, leaving Thunderbird Two in John's capable hands. Though the astronaut had spent many hours in the simulator practising, it was his first time using the remote controls in a real rescue, and he was nervous to say the least.

Gordon hadn't helped to encourage him either, whispering a quiet warning to his brother. "Just remember, John – Virgil is scheduled to bring you home next month. So try not to scratch his 'Green Goblin' too much."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, _brother dearest_." But John had taken note of Gordon's nickname for Thunderbird Two for future blackmail needs.

Alan had used the remote computer a couple of times during his last month of duty aboard Thunderbird Five and had managed to handle Thunderbird Two without much of a problem. That made John all the more determined not to let anything happen to her while _he_ was in the pilot's seat.

Plus, Virgil – the gentle giant of the Tracy bunch – could turn a gorgeous shade of red when really provoked. Just the thing John wanted to avoid at all costs.

Within minutes Gordon had entered the room where John had indicated the signs of life earlier. Virgil, not far behind, took the room to the left while Gordon moved to the right, checking the bedroom of the apartment they had entered. Smoke from the fire had managed to slither its way under the doors into each of the rooms.

"Switch to night vision," Gordon commanded his visor, and in an instant his view changed. Everything in the room was tinted with an eerie green glow, enabling him to see through the smoke that blocked his normal vision. Huddled in the corner, he caught sight of a young woman cradling her small child protectively in her arms. She shook with fear and shock, too afraid to move. The smoke had already begun to settle on her chest as she coughed violently.

The young mother caught a glimpse of Gordon's off-white fire suit, and tried to call out to him. He was already heading over to her, alerting his brother. "Virgil, I've found two survivors in the bedroom – a woman and a child."

With care he knelt before her, placing his hands on each side of her face to make sure she could see his.

"Ma'am, I'm with International Rescue, and I'm here to help you. Can you understand me?" His communicator acted as a microphone, amplifying his voice so that she could hear him clearly. She frantically nodded her head, but fell into another fit of coughs when she tried to speak.

"It's okay. We're going to get you out of here." He noticed as the woman held the little girl closer to her body. Lifting the girl's hair away from her face, he could see she was unconscious. Placing two fingers to her throat, he felt her pulse.

Reaching into his medical pack, Gordon carefully placed an oxygen mask onto the little girl's dusty face, then repeated the action for the mother. The woman's breath was shallow but quick, desperate to take the clean oxygen into her lungs.

The woman jumped slightly as she caught sight of another suit behind the first rescuer. Virgil stood behind as Gordon reassured the woman. "Stay calm, it's all right. He's here to help you." Turning to look to his brother, Gordon informed him, "The little girl's unconscious. I'll carry her, while you take care of the mother."

Virgil nodded, adding a quick "F.A.B." as he moved to take hold of the mother's hands. Gordon tenderly lifted the girl into his arms; the mother still held tightly to her daughter's hand, afraid to let go.

The woman rose to her feet, the effects of the smoke making her wobble and her head spin. Virgil placed a steadying arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the bedroom door, but her step faltered and she began to fall. Virgil's reflexes were quick, and he caught her with ease. He placed his arm under hers and took most of her weight as they headed for the apartment window. Looking outside, he could see the rescue cage over to their right.

"All right John, move her about three degrees to your left."

"_How wide is Thunderbird Two again?"_ John's strained tone replied, as he began to manoeuvre the control yoke.

"One hundred and eighty feet. Why?"

"_Just making sure."_ John coughed to clear his throat. _ "You know, I like doing my tour of duty in Thunderbird Five, but I like it better when I return home in one piece."_

Virgil frowned at the comment, the meaning behind the words lost to him. Gordon sniggered beside him, knowing exactly where his brother was coming from. Both men watched on as the cage swung from side to side, caused by the ever increasing forces of the wind outside acting upon it.

"Easy does it…" Virgil whispered, half to himself as well as to John, as he peered up to where Thunderbird Two was slowing to a hover.

The cage was directly ahead, ready to be brought in closer. "Okay, John. Ease her forward. Slowly does it." Inch by inch Thunderbird Two moved forward, ever closer to the building. Reaching out, Virgil unclipped the window latch and opened it as wide as it would allow. He could just barely squeeze through the gap.

Reaching to his belt, Virgil lifted a small gun and aimed it at the cage. The frightened young mother watched wide-eyed as he fired. A small, palm-sized magnetic pad attached to the end of a cable flew from the barrel, attaching itself to the metal framework of the cage. With a flick of a switch the cable began to retract, pulling the cage closer to the rescuers, until it was within grabbing distance.

Tying more cables to the bars, Virgil secured the cage in place against the window and turned to his brother. "Gordon, you go up in the cage and make sure both passengers are securely strapped in. Take care of the little girl." In a soft voice, looking directly into Gordon's honey eyes, he added, "Be careful."

Gordon, in his easy fashion, winked in reply. He carefully handed the girl over to Virgil as he stepped up on to the window sill and squeezed through the window over into the cage. He leaned back into the apartment and took hold of the mother's hands, helping to lift her into the safety of the cage. She watched anxiously as he took the girl back into his arms.

Virgil detached the cables, and the cage was left to freely swing from side to side. Gordon held the mother's hand in a protective grip, helping her to steady herself. "Hold on, we're on our way up."

At his words she looked heavenward towards the looming shape of the giant Thunderbird overhead. The 'bird's dark shadow blanketed the three passengers as the cage ascended higher into its front passenger cabin. The cage disappeared from view, and Virgil was able to give out a small breath of relief.

The giant craft shuddered sideways slightly as the winds took hold again. Virgil's concerned voice sounded into his communicator within an instant. "Is everything okay up there, John?"

John's tone was partly reactive, as though he had been accused of making a mistake. _"You try flying Thunderbird Two from forty five million miles away. Not to mention in the middle of a gale."_

Virgil sighed in exasperation, John's tone somewhat annoying him. "I wasn't questioning your abilities, Johnny, you know that."

He heard John give a small sigh of his own. _"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm… Well, I've just got some things on my mind."_

Virgil could identify that particular tone John was using. It was one of wavering uncertainty, wanting to spill his guts and tell all about his worries, but not wanting to dump his problems on someone else. Right now John was mentally kicking himself at the mistakes he was making, striving for perfection and pressuring himself to get the work done to the best of his ability for fear of letting the whole team down, along with the survivors.

That was basically John in a nutshell – always the one to place others first before he would even consider where his own place was.

"We need to talk."

"_I'm screwing this up big time, aren't I?" _ The heavy sigh again. _"Sure, why not."_

"Okay, we'll talk." As Virgil said those words a shadow loomed over him, belonging to the cage. He quickly returned his attention back to John over the radio. "But it'll have to wait. Gordon's on his way back down with the cage. Just focus on keeping Thunderbird Two stable."

"_F.A.B."_

The cage was lowered back to the level of the window at which Virgil was waiting. The dense smoke was filtering further into the apartment, masking more of their vision. The fire was heading in their direction.

This time it was Gordon who fired a securing line from his gun, hitting the window frame near to Virgil's head, only inches away. Virgil flinched as the line attached, throwing a glare over at Gordon. "Jesus, Gordon! Are you trying to give me a concussion?"

Gordon smiled apologetically. "Sorry Virg, the cage swung unexpectedly."

A tut followed that statement. "And you call yourself an excellent shot!"

The cage was rocking gently from side to side as it was once again pulled in. "Hey! If I wasn't such a good shot I might've caught your head." Gordon knelt, about to climb through the cage access gate bars rather than open it.

"Gordon, open the gate. You know procedure," Virgil chastised.

"Relax already. I've got it."

Virgil was about to secure the cables to the cage when a strong gust of wind grasped the cage, throwing it violently to the side. The force knocked Gordon off-balance, throwing him out of the cage. With inhumanly quick reflexes he grabbed the bars of the cage, his body tossed against the bars like a rag doll.

With another forceful gush the cage swayed away from the window, out of Virgil's grasp. With wide-eyed panic Virgil watched the cage swing back, taking his younger brother with it. _Hold on Gords, just hold on!_

Virgil jumped up on to the window sill and aimed his gun containing the securing line. Finger balanced on the trigger, he took aim…

But he could only cry out as the cage was flung violently back towards his direction. The aquanaut lost his grip on the metal bar he so desperately clung to, and was left at the mercy of the invisible forces of gravity and drag as he flew backwards. Arms thrashing wildly, he felt the impact of his back against the glass; tiny shattered shards flew everywhere as he crashed through the window. He felt a sharp crack in his back as he smacked against something hard. Then the floor rose up to catch him, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

For a moment Gordon lay there in stunned silence, his lungs working hard to recapture much needed oxygen. He was at least lying on something soft.

"Gords?" Gordon heard the familiar voice croak through his earpiece. "Gords, as much as I love you, you need to get off me."

Ginger movements saw the red-head comply, his back screaming at the movement. Turning, he saw a gasping Virgil cautiously roll over on to his hands and knees, just as out of breath.

Gordon's smile was sheepish but sincere in apology. "Sorry Virg. Nice catch though. Thanks."

Virgil rolled his eyes and smiled, grateful that his brother hadn't fallen to his death. "Next time, use the gate on the cage. We have procedures to follow for a reason."

"Rules are there to be broken."

"But windows aren't. I wonder what Dad would say to that."

"Yeah, well… Dad doesn't have to know everything, right?" Two pleading bright eyes looked to his older brother, asking for back-up.

Virgil shook his head, pulling himself to his feet. "Only if you promise not to do something stupid like that again." He moved over to his irresponsible sibling to help him to his feet. A wrong move and Gordon's back flared with pain once again, a hiss escaping between his teeth. Virgil face tightened in concern. "Gordon? Are you okay?"

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, it's nothing. Just had the wind knocked out of me, that's all."

An ominous crack sounded as Gordon straightened his back, bringing a wince from the young man. Virgil wasn't convinced his brother had escaped his acrobatics without a scratch. "Are you sure?"

Gordon tried to shrug it off, but knew he had impacted near to his old back injury. "Gordon…"

"I'm fine, really. I'll be okay. Come on, we've got survivors to help."

Smoke was now pouring into the room from the outside hall as the fire roared nearer. Virgil knew they had to move quickly, but at the same time he wanted to send his brother back up to Thunderbird Two in case his back injury was serious. "Gords, I think you should go back up to Two."

Gordon spun round to glare at his field commander. "No way! I'm fine – quit worrying will you? Besides, you _need_ me down here." Turning back to the door, he called back, "Come on, let's go!" When his brother didn't reply he turned back again, noting Virgil's crossed arms of disapproval. With a submissive gesture, Gordon held up his hands. "I promise to ask Brains to check me over once we get back, all right?"

Virgil had to take his word for it, knowing full well he wasn't going to get Gordon to leave, not at least without knocking him out first. "Fine. But if it gets any worse you're going back up."

"Yes, sir." Gordon muttered, taking the lead as the two of them headed back into the hallway. Checking his hand held scanner, Virgil found another possible sign of life located off to their left.

"John, confirm life sign over to our left, approximately nine feet away?"

"_F.A.B. Virgil, confirmed life sign. Are you guys all right? I heard the crash. What happened down there?"_

Gordon gave Virgil a glare to keep quiet. Virgil nodded, knowing his brother didn't want any of this to weave its way back to their father by any means. "It was nothing, John. The cage crashed through the window. Must've been caught in the high winds. We're okay though." He sent a small glare of his own over to Gordon in return. "At least, I think so."

"_That's a relief. The winds are starting to get strong up here, so you'd better get a move on. My scans show there's only one other person in the building."_

The brothers quickly checked their scanners to confirm. "We confirm that, John. You'll need to move Thunderbird Two over to your left a little."

"_F.A.B. I'll be ready."_ A brief pause followed, before John added, _"Looks like more helijets are heading your way with more dry chemicals for the fire."_

"F.A.B." A simultaneous reply came from both rescuers.

Standing before the door, Gordon took a stance, ready to kick it down as he had seen in countless Hollywood movies. He was only missing a gun to complete the effect.

He was about to kick out when a twinge in his back reminded him of only a few minutes ago. A sheepish grin showed he had changed his mind, instead stepping to one side and holding out an arm to pass over the honours to Virgil. "After you."

With a swift kick the door buckled and collapsed. Smoke from the hallway swirled into the room, leaving black fingerprints on everything it touched with a sooty hand. Taking a cautious step forward, Virgil crossed into the lounge of the apartment. Both men failed to hear the muffled creak of the floorboards, straining under the pressure.

A few steps forward and the floor could hold up no more, opening its jaws to consume its prey.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The panel slipped back and up through the floor appeared two familiar faces. Alan's held a smile of pleasure to finally be back home, while Scott seemed to have an air of apprehension about him.

Tin-Tin's smile was the first Alan witnessed, sitting across from him behind his father's desk. A brief flash of surprise appeared, having expected his father to be the first person he saw back home. But his surprise didn't dampen his enthusiasm to see his good friend. "Hi, Tin-Tin! Where's Dad?"

Tin-Tin sat back in the executive chair, folding her arms in a good-natured gesture of hurt. "I'm very well, thank you for asking, Alan." She saw the young man blush, her prod at missing such etiquette having obviously been felt. "Your father has been called to an important meeting, which is why I've taken control of Base while Gordon and Virgil are out on a rescue."

Alan casually strode over to the desk, putting on his 'cool' act to impress his girl. "I see." A huge grin exploded onto his face as he leant forward onto his forearms and took her hands in his. "It looks like you're doing a good job too. Maybe I should have a word with Dad, ask if you could do it more often."

"Alan Tracy, flattery won't get you anywhere with me." She smiled playfully, knowing deep down she was beginning to crumble under his charm. Her cheeks were starting to burn with embarrassment.

In the background to such play, Scott stood from the sofa and headed for the door towards the hallway. Tin-Tin noticed his less than stealthy exit, and called out to him. "Scott, how are you feeling?"

He didn't turn to reply, instead waving a hand of dismissal as he left the room. Alan watched his brother, a little annoyed at his blatant rudeness. "What's his problem?"

Tin-Tin patted Alan's hand gently. "I'm sure it's nothing, Alan." She recognised the look in Alan's eye as the beginnings of one of his infamous temper tantrums, and she certainly didn't want him to cause a scene with his eldest brother. "Perhaps he's just exhausted, as I'm sure you are after your monthly duties."

Alan continued to glare at the doorway, before reluctantly looking back to his dream lover. One look in her eyes softened his resolve, and he sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He had no idea how she could have such an instant effect on him, but one look from her amber eyes could knock down his walls of anger.

His heart fluttered, lifting higher than the stars. One look in her eyes could lose him in the heavens. He had never experienced such love before. "I'm not _that_ tired though. In fact, I'm wide awake and eager to hear all that's been happening on the island while I've been gone."

They both giggled, perfectly content in each other's company. The Romeo and Juliet of Tracy Island; the star-crossed lovers whose paths had been fortunate to intersect.

Who could deny that these two were not soul mates?

But yet, they still felt it could not be possible. Tin-Tin's father had once asked his daughter why they still felt reluctant to allow their hearts to love, and her reply had been simple. Both she and Alan felt it wrong, since they had lived more as brother and sister than just friends. Jeff Tracy had always loved her as a daughter, and she had always held the Tracy sons close to heart, as like her brothers. They were very close, and she could certainly trust every one of them with her life.

Neither of them, in truth, wanted to chance ruining their relationship. They wanted to feel secure in each other's presence, remain close but not too close. But was it truly what they wanted?

Alan had to admit he had fallen for the beautiful angel as soon as their eyes had met. He had never felt such safety and warmth in the arms of another as he felt with Tin-Tin. One day, perhaps when they left International Rescue, he would ask for Tin-Tin's hand in marriage.

He desired, with all of his soul, never to break Tin-Tin's heart, but his work with International Rescue made that outcome all the more possible. With every rescue he attended there was always the risk he may not return. They both knew it, but were never willing to accept it.

Their captive stare bonded them for many silent minutes. Between them passed love and devotion no words could describe, no painting could portray, no poet could express. They would have remained as such for the rest of the day, had Alan's grandma not chosen that moment to enter the room to welcome back her grandson.

"Alan! Welcome back, sweetheart! How was your trip?"

Holding her arms out wide, she approached him with elevated joy. Alan smiled and embraced her with gangly arms, her small, fragile frame taking hold of him with the strength of ten men half her age. "Hi Grandma. Everything was as smooth as ever."

It was then his nostrils caught the sweet scent drifting in from the kitchen below – the unmistakable aroma of his grandma's cooking. "Hey, is that apple pie I can smell baking?"

"You haven't lost your sense of appetite! It's apple pie, as well as some fresh cookies and, of course, your favourite."

"Banana bread?!"

"Of course."

Grandma felt the pressure around her increase as Alan hugged her tighter, excited to be home once again. "If this is what I get for working a month in Five, then I'll offer to do double shifts next time!"

Tin-Tin giggled from behind them, watching with amusement. Alan could become quite boisterous, almost regressing into a kid again. Perhaps it was true that boys matured later than girls – Alan was certainly a prime example of that, at times. Both him and Gordon.

"Come on then, Alan. I expect you're hungry after your journey."

"You're not kidding Grandma – I could eat a horse, and then some!"

The two women chuckled, the famous Tracy appetite having been inherited along the family tree from generation to generation. Ruth led young Alan away towards the direction of the kitchen – though he certainly didn't need to be shown the way – and left Tin-Tin alone with her thoughts.

Sometimes men could be the most predictable creatures.


	12. Fate And Time, The Cruel Mistresses

**Chapter 11: Fate And Time, The Cruel Mistresses**

"Thunderbird Five to Virgil. Come in."

There was no response.

"Thunderbird Five to Gordon – please respond."

Again, nothing. Where were they?

Concern began to tickle John's mind again. From what little he could piece together from the sounds on the radio, his brothers were in trouble; a nasty crack followed closely by a cry of warning. John could only guess what had happened. Now nobody was answering.

"Gordon, Virgil, please answ –"

"_Gordon here. It's all right, Johnny, we're not hurt. At least, not too seriously."_ A sarcastic reply emerged at long last. John huffed a relieved sigh, leaning back into his chair and glancing up to the ceiling, sending a prayer of thanks.

Some disgusted mutters were exchanged back on Earth, until the distinctive words of _"Dad's going to chew our asses out when he hears about this,"_ reverberated over the airwaves. John smirked, knowing full well that was his younger brother, Gordon, talking.

"Gordon, what happened?" His brothers' bantering continued, ignoring him. When it was apparent John wasn't going to receive an answer any time soon he cleared his throat and tried again. "Guys?"

"_Look, if it wasn't for me your ass would be sitting two floors lower down now!"_

"_If it hadn't been for you wrenching my arm like that I wouldn't feel like I've had a two-by-four slammed into my back! It's already sore from my previous somersault through the window!"_

"_Fine then. Next time I'll let you drop, shall I? If that's the gratitude I get…"_

"Guys…" John feared he knew where this conversation was heading.

"_Oh I'm grateful, thank you very much. Grateful that I'll be flat on my back for the next week at least, in agony with a spine like an accordion!"_

"_Well that's what you get when you try to do an impression of a monkey swinging through the trees by ignoring protocol! And oh yes, you'd better believe Dad's going to hear about _that_ from _me_!"_

"_You promised you wouldn't tell him!"_

"_I didn't promise at all, Gords. I just said I wouldn't tell him if _you_ promised not to do _something stupid_! That must be a record for you – not five minutes have passed!"_

"GUYS!"

John's sudden shout knocked his brothers back into line, silencing them in an instant. John took a minute to calm himself before asking, "Have you managed to find the last casualty during your little dispute?"

"_Don't go there, John. Just… don't."_ Virgil was irritated, that was clear, following which was an anticipatory pause, and John feared the argument was simmering below the surface, ready to be bubble again.

A calming snort soon brought down Virgil's temper. _"Gordon's helping him out now. He's suffering from possible smoke inhalation, but there doesn't seem to be any other apparent injuries."_

"That's good to know. What about you two? What happened?"

There was another pause, this time as Virgil gave Gordon some help to carry the man over to the window. It was Gordon's croaky voice that filtered through the speaker, giving John his next instructions. _"John, bring Thunderbird Two a little closer to the building."_

"How much closer?"

Again another pause. _"About a foot."_

Up in the space station, John pushed the yoke forward and watched his monitors as the figures changed. Gradually the mighty 'bird did as commanded. The cage was secured once again, and Gordon hopped in to help lift up their remaining survivor. John's patience, however, was beginning to run thin over the previous matter.

"Virgil, what happened down there? I heard a crash and a cry, and then nothing. I…I thought…I was worried when you didn't reply."

"_It was noth –"_ 'Nothing', Virgil was about to finish, but then decided it was unfair to cut John out of the loop. His brother deserved to know how Gordon's spine had almost been stretched out of his back. John was only worried about them, just as he would be if the tables were turned. _"It was my fault,"_ he started again. _ "I didn't check the room before we entered. I kicked the door down and stepped inside, when the floorboards gave way. Gordon was behind me, and dropped through the floor. I… ah, I grabbed his arm to stop him from falling, but I… well, I nearly wrenched his arm out of his socket."_

A sarcastic snort butted in, interrupting his flow. _"Correction – you _did_ wrench my arm out of its socket, Virgil."_

"_It was either that or letting you break your neck!"_ Virgil snapped back, exhaustion fuelling his anger and cutting his usually vast supply of patience short.

"_Enough_!" John's own impatience was leaking into his words. "You're both _all right_ though?"

"_Yes,"_ came the drawn out reply, from two weary souls who wanted nothing more than to return home and soak in a hot bath for a fortnight.

"Okay, okay! Only asking. You're alive, that's the main thing." John sighed, knowing defeat when it stared him in the face. "I've informed Juntendo University Hospital of your ETA. They're on standby for your arrival."

"_F.A.B. Run a final scan of the building to make sure it's empty, John."_

"F.A.B." A curious thought entered John's mind, sparked by an earlier comment spoken in the heat of his brothers' argument. "Virgil? What was Gordon referring to when he mentioned not using the cage door?"

"_Nothing! Something that was said unintentionally, that's all!" _Virgil didn't have time to respond, not even to take in a breath when Gordon's squeaky voice head-butted its way into the conversation.

"You climbed through the bars again, didn't you, Gordon?"

"_Perish the thought! I know it's a very stupid thing to do, so I would never _ever_ do it."_ His tone was childlike, his pretence adulterous to his painful back. Gordon could never play the game of innocence with anybody. His technique was _too_ practiced to be real, so he never used it, instead retreating to his usual witty self. _"John Glenn… I can't believe you of all people would say such a thing."_

"Sure, I believe you." John's voice was exactly the opposite, of a 'I see right through you' manner. Their father would surely be interested to hear this. The potential for blackmail was too tempting, especially since it concerned 'poor' Gordon. "I mean, I don't have to remind you about what Dad said the last time you did something 'stupid'."

"_Don't remind me." _ His sigh touched on the weariness he felt. John could imagine the rerun of the memories of their father having a 'quiet word' with his younger brother on the definition of the word 'door'. When Gordon next spoke, giving instructions to the passengers aboard Thunderbird Two – when the hum of the cage ascending abruptly ended – his voice encompassed a warmth to help lift everyone's spirits. _"Okay, ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to welcome you aboard Thunderbird Two. In the interests of safety, please remain seated at all times."_

John's eyes had already rolled towards the ceiling. "If you wanted to be an air steward why did you join WASP?"

"_Didn't much care for wearing a skirt,"_ Gordon quipped. _"Besides, there're five flyboys in this family. Someone had to keep his feet on the ground, kind of."_

"_Gordon, are you planning to send the cage down for me at any time, or should I call a cab?"_

"_Sorry, Virg. The cage is on its way, as I speak."_

John chuckled to himself. "There's always an oddball in a family. Guess it had to be you, Gordon."

"_Hey, someone's got to provide the entertainment – you know, be the party boy."_ The radio fell silent for a moment._ "Virgil's on his way up. Speak to you back on Two, Johnny."_

John smiled, happy to hear the warmth in his brother's voice. "F.A.B. Thunderbird Five out."

The space monitor sat back, allowing his tired eyes to close and let his mind wander. He was worried, he couldn't deny that. He was always worried about the safety of his brothers whenever they were out on a rescue. Always worried for his own sanity, especially when he could only listen. He was powerless to offer a helping hand to anyone physically. Many times his brothers had told him what a lifeline he could be, keeping a calm, soothing voice for them to focus on when the world around them was falling apart. John didn't feel helpful though, many miles above the Earth's thermosphere. He wanted to get 'stuck in', feel the hot perspiration of busting a gut trying to help innocent souls.

Not sitting behind a desk and staring at a computer monitor all day, as much as he enjoyed working in the communications hub of International Rescue.

Thinking of his brothers, he couldn't help but be sucked back into his earlier thoughts of the day – the very idea that Scott wasn't himself, but someone else entirely. And what did exactly happen during the earlier exchange between Scott and their mystery caller? John was keen to find out.

Rolling his chair over to the opposite control panel, John tapped into the computer's most recent emergency assistance recordings received by Five. Scanning through each file, he checked the time and date to try and pluck out the one he was searching for.

He frowned.

Once again he looked at each file, cross-referencing them one by one to double-check and triple-check he hadn't overlooked any detail.

It wasn't there.

The file had disappeared, vanished, _been deleted_.

His last thought gave him an idea. John quickly set to work typing in commands that would have made Brains smile. Commands that allowed him deeper access into Five's systems to retrieve anything that had attempted to be erased within the last twenty-four hours.

Soon a long list of file names were darting across the screen faster than the eye could read. John scanned over the information on screen byte by byte. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for.

There was one file that had been deleted a few hours previous, around the approximate time Scott had been on Thunderbird Five. It had been a messy attempt to delete the file – no secure wiping, no lower-level formatting at all. Recovering the file had taken little time. What had surprised John, however, was how small the file was, considering how much data had been recorded.

Or how much data John had _expected_ to have been recorded.

There was only thirty seconds of audio available.

"Damn," John hissed, cursing under his breath as he listened again. The computer-literate middle child wasn't deterred though, and in earnest began typing further commands on the keyboard. His fingertips found the keys with practised speed, gained from years of entering data (hacking databases) and typing up countless essays for his assignments (writing countless programs and pages and pages of code).

Either the file had been corrupted, or – and it was a serious '_or'_ – the communication hadn't been recorded in the first place.

His fingers started typing furiously. He had become a man with a mission to fulfil.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Thunderbird Two dominated the skies, casting a shadow over the clouds as she soared high above them to avoid the ever-increasing winds down below, transporting her passengers to the nearby hospital. The dying rays of the sun sliced through the cloud formation directly into the cockpit, bathing her pilot in a beautiful rose-peach glow.

Thunderbird Two was flying practically on her own; Virgil's mind had floated away, higher than the clouds and Thunderbird Two herself. He often liked to escape while flying, knowing the great carrier could take care of herself for most of the journey.

Blinking away the daydream, Virgil's thoughts plummeted back down to earth with a thump as the door to the cockpit opened. A weary Gordon entered and dropped into one of the passenger seats behind, stretching his arms above his head to try and undo the knots that had formed in his muscles. He regretted the action almost instantly as his back flared, reminding him of the window he had demolished earlier.

Gordon winced, holding his back to try and ease the pressure. "Ow! Shouldn't have done that."

"Back playing up, Gords?" Virgil asked in a flat tone, not taking his eyes from the sky beyond the cockpit windscreen.

"Yeah, but it's nothing. What's our ETA at the hospital?"

Virgil checked his instruments, made a quick mental calculation then replied, "About nine minutes."

The cockpit fell into a thick silence, neither brother daring to try and pull through it. Gordon was becoming increasingly fidgety as the silence drew on, eventually deciding it was his turn to start talking. "Listen, Virg, I'm… I'm really sorry for snapping at you earlier. It wasn't fair to take it out on you."

Virgil's annoyance with his little brother had already begun to dissipate. He knew, in truth, he had already forgiven him, but he didn't want Gordon to know that. "Sorry, I didn't mean to tug on your arm like that." There was the faintest hint of sarcasm in his words.

Undeterred by his brother's attitude, Gordon stood and moved to the pilot's seat, leaning on its back to support his back. "I guess I'm just a bit cranky. I know you must be." Still no reply, but he carried on. "You saved my butt back there, and for that I owe you. I'm sorry."

At first there was no reply, but Gordon waited. Eventually Virgil shook his head and turned to reveal a growing smile, prompting the aquanaut to ruffle his soot-speckled chestnut locks.

"I guess I can forgive you, since you're injured. And I'm sorry for snapping back at you – I know your back must be really hurting to make you so grumpy afterwards."

Gordon's grin beamed across his face, seeing the sparkle return to his older brother's eyes. "Ha! I knew you couldn't stay mad at me."

Gingerly Gordon leaned over and wrapped his arms around his big brother. "Love you, bro."

"Love you too, Ariel." Virgil smiled, using the old childhood nickname Gordon had gotten from too many reruns of The Little Mermaid. His smile grew, glad to be feeling the comforting hug of his brother, instead of the alternative of bringing home a cold corpse in a body bag, had Gordon fallen from the cage.

"You'd better check on the passengers in the med-bay. We're nearing the hospital."

A bleep caught his attention, signalling an incoming call. _"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two."_

Gordon released his hold on the Thunderbird pilot, allowing him to answer the call. "Thunderbird Two here. What's up, John?"

"_Hey, Virg, how's it going?"_

_Uh oh, something's wrong,_ was the cloned thought running through Virgil and Gordon's minds. Neither of them liked the tone of voice John had used – one which was faintly jovial, a weak attempt to cover his anxiousness. "We're almost at the hospital. ETA now six minutes." There was an ominous pause, before Virgil decided to drop the question. "What is it, John? What's wrong?"

There was no point in him hiding it any longer, but John didn't seem to want to relent. _"Nothing's wrong. I… I just wanted a progress report, and to find out how Gordon's back is doing."_

Both brothers glanced at each other, seeing if the other bought the excuse. Neither did. Gordon was the one who volunteered to voice their thoughts. "Spit it out, Johnny. Something's on your mind and we want to know what it is."

Again, an extended silence filled the airwaves, before a soft sigh sounded in the cockpit of the green carrier. _"All right, all right. I'm worried about Scott."_

"Aren't we all."

"_No, Gords, I mean… worried that it's not _him_, per se."_

Gordon and Virgil exchanged glances, asking each other if the other knew what John was implying. Gordon shrugged his answer to Virgil's cocked eyebrow. "Care to elaborate, bro?"

"_It's just… I don't know… Well…"_ Another silent interlude threatened to materialise, but John sucked in his anxiety and ploughed into his story. _"We got another call from Canada – you know, where Scott had his accident?"_

"Yeah, we remember. What happened this time?"

"_Well, I don't think it's me, but… Hold on a minute."_ There was the sound of tapping on a keyboard, followed by a string of _"Come on, come on, you can do it" _crawling over the communicator.

"What's he up to?" Virgil mouthed over his shoulder to Gordon, who was leaning over the back of the pilot's chair to listen closely to his space-bound sibling. Gordon shook his head, staring at the radio and waiting for it to come back to life. "John?" Virgil coaxed.

"_Hold on, I'm just trying to recover a file that's been deleted."_

"A deleted file? You can do that?" Gordon's interest rose a notch.

"_Of course I can, if the partition hasn't been overwritten."_ John's tone gained an edge of playfulness as he added, _"Oh yes, Gords, that means I could resurrect those pictures you deleted last month on your computer."_

Gordon frowned again, obviously missing the implied connotation. "What pictures? I haven't a clue what you're talking about..."

Both older brothers could hear the penny clang with a loud resonance in Gordon's head, the realisation dawning. The silence was the only indication John needed to confirm his answer. Virgil glanced over his shoulder to look at Gordon, only to see his brother's cheeks turn a lovely pink shade. "What pictures?"

"Nothing! Nothing, honestly," the lame finish hobbled in. Desperate to change the subject, Gordon asked his brother, "What file are you trying to recover?"

It was quite clear from the bright tone of John's voice he was still smiling. _"I'm trying to find the file of the recording we received a few hours ago."_ No sooner had he said that a bleep from the computer announced his failure. A hand slammed onto the computer console in frustration._ "Damn it, it's not there!"_

"Well, what did the caller say? Can you remember?" Gordon prompted.

"_No, I can't remember a damn thing about it! All I remember is thinking it was strange of Scott to be so – I don't know, possessive, maybe? – and so demanding, when it came to reporting the call to Dad. In fact I think the call wasn't recorded in the first place. All I can find is the first thirty seconds of it. Here, I'll play it for you."_

A couple of tapped keys later, and the audio recording began to play out loud in Thunderbird Two's cockpit.

"_Sir, may I ask the reason for your call?"_ John's voice.

"_John? John, you have... - sten to me. The man... be Scott Tracy… he isn't. Damn it... sounds so crazy... true!... rescue in Can-... – someth-... ed there and... I switched –"_ A deep, unfamiliar voice, begging to be listened to, to be understood. It dabbed each word with a strangely familiar lilt.

The recording abruptly ended.

Gordon was the first to speak up. "Ask Dad – see if Scott has reported it to him, or can at least explain what happened."

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the communications link. _"I've tried, but he's tied up with things at the moment. I've asked Tin-Tin, but she doesn't know. In fact, she didn't even know where Scott was at the time I called."_

"Where is Scott now?"

There was a soft snort for a statement bursting with irony. _"That's the million dollar question, Gords. Where _is_ big brother?"_

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

As soon as Thunderbird Three had returned to Tracy Island the Hood had retreated to the sanctuary of Scott's room. The door to the bedroom closed, he stepped further into the bounds of the eldest son's sleeping quarters, and perched on the edge of the bed. across from him was a small wall mirror, at which he stared at the reflection of the young man. It was a stranger's face, with years-old lines of worry and stress imprinted across the forehead and beside the cheeks and eyes. The Hood studied his watery blue eyes that shimmered in the sunlight, stroking a finger over the glass as it glared back. He could almost sense the real Scott behind those eyes, stone-cold hatred staring back at him.

He hated the image he saw – detested the portrait of the hero. With an intense rage he took hold of the mirror in both hands and punched it until the surface cracked and his knuckles bled. Destroying the image could not possibly destroy the years of anger that had built a wall around his heart. He hated them, despised them for the very morals and ideals they stood for.

To him, good deeds were never repaid. People said their thanks, but the true heroes would fade from existence and public memory until someone else needed their help. Then the whole useless process would begin again, another vicious circle winding on and on and on like a never-ending reel of tape.

In and out, his breathing began to calm as the sting from the glass increased. A droplet of blood slithered along the edge of a broken shard, and he watched in morbid curiosity as it wound around the edge until it dropped to the floor. His – _Scott's _– lifeblood, ebbing away into nothing. That is what he wanted – to watch as International Rescue cracked and imploded piece by piece, ripped apart from the inside and left to bleed out until all life had been drained. He grinned in delight at the image.

Someone had to have the evil role.

He turned and discarded the shattered pieces of the mirror into a nearby waste bin. His costume would have to stay on for now. So long as the mirror remained in place, all anyone would see would be Scott Tracy. All in due time he would remove the hood.

International Rescue had only just started to open up its secrets to him. He wanted to make sure he would be there when they were revealed in all their glory.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"You know what I mean. What's the island monitor indicating?"

John quickly glanced over at said monitor to answer Gordon's question. _"He's in his room."_

Gordon was about to ask another question, but was cut off as Virgil re-entered the conversation. "You've got a theory, John?" He phrased it as a question, but he was afraid it was going to turn out into more of a statement.

"_Yes, but you'll laugh."_

"Let _us_ be the judge of that." Virgil tried to sound reassuring.

"_Only if Gordon promises."_

"Aw, Johnny, you know I can't do that." Gordon mock pouted, dropping his lower lip to sulk. "Okay, okay, I promise," he backed down when Virgil pinned him with a glare.

"_All right." _There was a gripped pause, as though Gordon and Virgil were waiting to hear if they had won the jackpot. At long last, John announced his thoughts. _"I think Scott's mind has been switched."_

The clichéd pause of contemplation was cut short as Gordon blurted out, "Switched? You mean, as in _brainwashed_ type of thing?"

"_Kind of... Maybe. As in, switched with someone else's. I know it sounds crazy... But without the rest of the recording I can't prove anything."_

"Well it would certainly explain the grouchy mood he's been in."

"_Not really, Gordon. He lives on an island with you, remember?"_ There was a soft snort from John._ "But it was the way he acted earlier. And this creepy feeling I get whenever I'm near him... " _

"Sorry to break up the conversation, guys, but we're at the hospital," Virgil interrupted. "Gords, take control of Thunderbird Two while I take the passengers down in the cage." The 'since you've hurt your back' part was left unsaid but fully implied.

Virgil had already stood to leave when Gordon's expected answer of protest came. "No, no, I'm okay. Really, my ba – ah! – ck, is fine." The twinge in his back from straightening in the seat betrayed him at the perfect time. At Virgil's raised eyebrow – 'really?' – Gordon relented. "Okay okay, I'll hold her steady. Just watch how you go."

Gordon offered his field commander a good luck wink, then took up his position before the flight controls and started his checks. Hands resting delicately on the control yoke, his eyes scanned over the altimeter and proximity readouts, taking note of any nearby obstacles.

Soon, he was settled for another drawn-out period of waiting. Though where Gordon Tracy was concerned, in his dictionary the word 'patience' preceded the term 'impatience'.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The clouds in front of his vision were a stark contrast to those he had passed through a couple of hours ago. These were touched by the sun's rays, reflecting a golden lining that sparkled like jewels. He felt like he was flying through Heaven.

Scott's miniature plane cruised along at a steady speed, a breeze above the open ocean. His internal GPS remained strong, guiding him along his journey on a course set for the South Pacific, towards home. It was a journey he had covered so many times over the years he could more or less navigate it blindfolded.

The winter moon was peeking from behind a streak of clouds in the distance as the afternoon sun began to set, ready to come out and play among the stars. All around the light aircraft was clear open space, with no other presence for miles.

Scott hissed lightly, his hand aching in protest again. He had been flying for almost four hours straight, his eyelids drawing heavy from the constant concentration on his flight path. He hadn't dare to answer any radio calls, fearing he would be followed, though he knew the authorities would be trying to track him via various satellites. They would struggle though – his first action had been to disable the onboard tracker and GPS.

The fingertips of his broken hand brushed against the edge of the gun in his parka pocket. It offered him a little reassurance that he would make it home to save his family. His greatest fear was that the Hood had already seen to his brothers' futures, to his father's fatality, and to his friends' fates. Closing his eyes, he banished such disturbing images, hoping it was simply just the product of a hyper imagination. He couldn't think the worst; he had to have faith they were still safe.

Feeling the edge of the weapon, a soft shudder of a breath escaped his lips as he realised just what such faith might ask him to do in return. He knew he would do anything to protect those close to him; whether he could live with himself after, he wasn't quite as confident.

He gritted his teeth. If he had to kill to survive, then he was prepared to take whatever the fates demanded of him.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"Thunderbird Two to Base, come in Base."

"_This is Base receiving you, Thunderbird Two. What is your status report?"_

"All persons rescued from the tower block have been taken to Juntendo University Hospital, most only suffering from smoke inhalation and bruises, and one with a broken femur. The fire has been reduced using the diacetyline, and local rescue services are now able to handle the remaining smaller fires from here, so we're returning home. ETA at just over an hour."

"_F.A.B. Virgil. See you back at Base.__"_

Virgil sighed, leaning back into the padded seat with weary muscles. Gordon sat behind him, shuffling to find a comfortable position for his aching back with little success. The silence between them was a tired one, each lacking any real energy for small talk. That, and thoughts of hot showers.

Eventually Gordon resigned himself to sitting in a straight position, finding the least pressure placed on his sore muscles.

"That won't help, you know."

Gordon almost jumped out of his skin when Virgil's silky voice broke the silence between them. "Jeez, Virg – ow – you gave me a heart attack there!" The twinge in his back returned with a vengeance.

Virgil glanced back with a sympathetic smile. "Sorry."

"_What's he up to now?"_

This time both elder and younger brothers jumped as John spoke – even Thunderbird Two's nose jerked up and down in reaction to her pilot's surprise.

Gordon glared at the communication panel, knowing full well John was spying on him _again_. Virgil simply rolled his eyes skyward. "Gordon's hurt his back in the rescue."

"Don't you ever announce yourself these days, John?"

"_That would take all the fun out of spying."_ There was a hint of amusement in his tone. _"Besides, can't a man be a little worried about his kid brother once in a while?"_

"No." There was no malice in his reply. Gordon's grin returned, glowing with warmth.

Ahead of them, through the windshield, the two brothers watched as the dark grey skies of Japan opened up around them, revealing the crystal blue skies of the South Pacific. Thunderbird Two's gentle shudder, battling against the winds outside, quietened as the air calmed around them. Below rolled an equally calm sea, spanning out for as far as the eye could see.

"Gords, why don't you go down to the sick bay and put one of those heat pads on your back? It might ease it a little, at least until we get home."

Gordon shook his head, knowing he'd been waiting for this to come. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"_No_, I'm just suggesting it, that's all." Virgil eyed him with a frown, curious to know what Gordon was thinking. He read Gordon's face like a book, deciphering his expression to read of amusement and quirkiness. Just what his brother was infamous for.

A quick pat on the shoulder told Virgil his brother, deep down, was appreciative of the gesture. Heading down to the medical bay the cockpit door hissed closed, and Virgil was left to his own thoughts and John's voice.

"_Is Gordon all right?"_ John tentatively asked, fearing he was missing something. There was only so much he could perceive from voice-only.

"He's fine. I checked him over before we left the hospital. Apart from some nasty bruising, there doesn't appear to be any serious injury. But we can't be sure until we get him home and scanned, to be safe."

There was a sigh of relief from the satellite monitor. _"That's good to hear. I hope he hasn't aggravated his old back injury."_

Virgil was beginning to see the familiar pattern emerging from this conversation. Every possible extraneous variable was being examined thoroughly in case something was missed. It was John's usual methodical approach to most things. But Virgil couldn't blame him when it came to Gordon and his health.

Ever since his hydrofoil accident five years previous, Gordon's back had been much the focus of each of his brothers' protective natures. Three long months he had spent in recovery to bring his body back to some semblance of previous fitness when he had first joined the World Aquanaut Security Patrol. The physiotherapy and care Gordon had endured had, on more than a few occasions, taken their toll on the young man. A few nights of crying himself to sleep, fearing he would never be as strong or as confident as he had been in the past. Those long nights and tiresome days had been spent reminiscing, focusing too much on what had been and what he had achieved in his life. It wasn't until he'd shared a talk with his wise brother John that he realised it was the future that needed his full attention.

All his brothers and his father had pushed him and given him the encouragement and strength to drive on through each day. Every waking moment had seen his life improve and his body heal, until the momentous occasion when at last he could walk unaided.

It had been only a small goal, but he had been strong enough to make it to the bathroom on his own. He was proud, he admitted that. A man had to be able to do some things in privacy.

But that was Gordon skimming over the cracks of anxiety with his sense of humour, hiding the real reason why it had been so important for him to walk again. He was, unusually, too shy to admit it, but those few steps had been something he was desperate to achieve.

He had achieved it for himself, but more importantly, he had done it for his family. It was physical proof he could show them, that he wanted them to see.

The joyous smiles on their faces had expressed what a thousand words could not. That had been his just reward for his achievements.

None of the brothers would ever admit the fear and anguish they felt at seeing their brother lying critically ill in a hospital bed. They had been so helpless; each and every heart broken. Jeff feared he would be standing by another grave, whispering his final goodbyes to a man who meant the world to him, just as he had to his wife all those years ago.

Gordon was a part of his world just as his brothers were. Such a terrible accident had threatened to crumble the wall that the family had had to rebuild after Lucy's loss. Fate, though, had seen fit to turn the opposite cheek, deciding the outcome should not be a repeat of the past.

"John, he'll be fine. Fortunately he landed on something _soft_ to break his fall." The edge of sarcasm was on Virgil's tongue, something John picked up with ease.

"_You?"_

"The human cushion."

A silence filled the cabin, a lengthy pause where each brother dared the other to break first. John was the one to back down first. _"I, er… I see you're on your way home. The rescue went relatively well then."_

"Yes it did."

Again another silence followed. Again neither man wishing to speak first.

"_Virgil, do you think I'm crazy?"_

"What do you mean?"

"_I mean, I know you're not the most talkative person in this family – Gordon was certainly born with that gift – but I sense you're mulling over something. Are you thinking about Scott?"_

This time the pause was prickly. "Yeah, kind of. I've been thinking about what you said before, about him seeming like he's acting very out of character, not himself." The pause grew thorns this time. "I think you may be right."

"_I am?"_

"Yes, though maybe not about the brainwashing thing. Maybe something medical, I'm not sure. I'm going to have a talk with him as soon as we land at Base. This needs to be sorted, and the sooner the better." Virgil sighed, feeling the tension in the atmosphere close around him. "He's very moody, it's so out-of-character for him. And..."

"_And what?"_

Virgil shook his head. "And I'm going to have to speak to Brains again. I need to get him checked out. That blow to the head must be what is causing this. A possible concussion, delayed, or... Or some underlying brain trauma we've missed. Whatever it is, I need to sort it out."

It wasn't often that Virgil felt cold with worry for one of his brothers, but it was a feeling that had been growing over the day. The more he thought about it, the less able he was to account for the changes in Scott's attitude. It was irritating him not being able to clearly see what exactly was wrong.

They were going to have a long talk to begin with once he got home, and nothing would intervene this time, short of an emergency call.


	13. When The Movable Object

_Hi everyone! I hope this chapter works - I've been looking forward to posting this all week. Enjoy, and thanks for your continued support!_

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**Chapter 12: When The Movable Object Meets The Unstoppable Force**

Jeff had never seen such a pile of paperwork on his desk. The very thought of dealing with it was enough for him to pinch the bridge of his nose to prevent the onslaught of a headache.

The meeting had been long and tiring, but eventually he and his Board of Directors had come to a compromise over the problem. The redesign of the engines would go ahead as necessary, with the company agreeing to a reduction of the prices of the engines if KineTech agreed to wait for a couple of weeks. KineTech had agreed, thankfully, and so the pressure was on to implement all changes.

Jeff massaged his temples as he felt the headache poke him. The work was necessary, and he was forced to oblige, no matter how much he felt he wanted to hand all responsibility over to someone else. His sons had enough to contend with on the rescue front, but a small part of him wondered what his sons would make of such work when it came time to hand over his legacy.

John would gladly accept the responsibility, and would take to it with little effort. His middle son had natural business audacity and ability to be successful with any venture he chose to follow.

To some degree, Alan was as like-minded as Jeff, with the drive and power needed to push a business to work. Alan wasn't afraid to step into something he had never attempted before – an aspect of his nature which made him strive to the highest limits. Where John was more withheld and wary in his decisions, choosing to err on the safe side, Alan was more instinctual and willing to take risks. In a way they balanced each other.

Gordon and Virgil, though, had little interest in business. Of course, they both helped with administration and paperwork when it was their turn, but in honesty their hearts lay elsewhere. Gordon was always full of energy and never willing to stay in one place for too long, which was just what his mind was like. Virgil, on the other hand, could set his mind to any task for hours if he wanted to, and he had the drive to carry out the task – a strong asset when working for International Rescue – but he didn't have the business acumen that would help to keep a business afloat.

Then there was Scott, the level-headed son he admired for having an instinctual and sometimes wild spirit. Scott had a sixth sense when it came to making decisions. He could spot the potential in a plan of action and was prepared to make the needed sacrifices. But often, Jeff felt he had trouble reading his eldest son's thoughts. Scott wasn't the silent type, just quick-thinking.

Speaking of Scott…

The patriarch had a nagging feeling there was unrest within the familial hierarchy. Scott had been unnaturally quiet, and somehow reserved towards Jeff and his younger brothers, if that was possible.

The meeting filed away in the back of his mind, Jeff pushed himself away from the desk and the mountains of papers that demanded his attention. Alan and Scott had returned from Thunderbird Five hours ago, yet Jeff hadn't spoken to either of them. A month was an arduous amount of time for any father while his son was so far away from contact. A call through the videolink could never compare to the comfort gained from a hug, or seeing the smile in real life.

The business forgotten for now, Jeff left the restrictive confines of his office to look for his sons, smoothing the front of his shirt absentmindedly as he reached for the door handle.

His first destination was Alan's room.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Belah Gaat knew his time would soon near its end. Suspicions were becoming active, exchanged in a series of glances and worried frowns between each person on the island, him the focal point of interest. He would have to act quickly, gain what he needed, then leave this retched place behind.

His new destinations became the brothers' rooms.

He retrieved his digital camera from the desk behind him and pocketed it, before leaving the confines of the room.

He needed more physical evidence to prove just who was behind the operation of the world's most famous rescue team. In preference, more than just outside pictures of the craft.

Stealthily moving towards the room next door, he pressed the keypad and was mildly surprised to gain access with no problems. It appeared that trust was never-ending in this family.

In the immediate vicinity the Hood was greeted with a desk full of sketchpads – some open at pages revealing partially complete black and white sketches; others decorated with patches of colour, where experiments in shading and mixing had been conducted. One sketch struck him as interesting as he quickly glanced over the sheets. It was one of a bird flying high above the glazed surface of frozen water, casting a shimmering reflection on the ice. Behind the bird sliced a rod of lightening through a midnight sky, an angry thunderstorm in its wake. He didn't understand the picture's deeper meaning, but he wasn't concerned with making a psychological analysis of what the pictures were meant to express in terms of the artist's unconscious.

In turn he opened each drawer until he found a handful of documents that piqued his interest. The first was a driver's license, not dissimilar to the one he had found in Scott's – _his_ – room. This belonged to a _'Tracy; Virgil Grissom' –_ (_'Grissom' this time; a slight improvement on 'Carpenter'. _That still made him chuckle) – thirty years old with his date of birth in August. He pocketed the item, and continued to search.

Next was a certificate from the Kansas Music Festival, declaring the achievement of distinction in the performance of the second movement from Beethoven's _'Pathetique'_ Sonata. This Tracy son had an apparent gift for music.

Similar certificates and awards were buried further down in the drawers, relics of a time long left behind by maturity. Apart from loose stationery and blank manuscript sheets, there was nothing else of importance.

Deciding he had little time to conduct a more thorough search, the Hood moved onward to the next room. Again the door was unlocked.

This time his visual field was filled with the sight of sparkling gold trophies as they reflected the dying rays of the afternoon sun. A shelf of trophies, for victories in different races, lined one side of the room above a row of various certificates and medals. This brother wanted to show off his enthusiasm for high speed and his competitiveness.

Clothes had been thrown aside onto the desk, a haphazard pile precariously leaning over the edge. Various automobile magazines were scattered over the bed, some opened at pages revealing current developments in automobile engineering.

The Hood couldn't locate this Tracy's driving license, though it was obvious he was an expert. There was nothing, though, that linked any of their identities to International Rescue. Thinking hard, the Hood searched through his recent memories for any clue that would point him in the right direction.

The clothes mountain sparked an idea in him – the cobalt blue of the T-shirt laying on top of the pile the inspiration. What about their uniforms?

He didn't have the opportunity to finish the thought, when a knock on the door punched through his reverie, soothed by a deep warm voice.

"Alan? Are you in here?"

The Hood held his breath, unsure how exactly to proceed. The answer was provided, as the door opened to reveal the distinctive broad-shouldered figure of Jeff Tracy.

"Scott? What are you doing in here? Have you seen Alan?"

Hesitating, the Hood scanned for an appropriate response, almost robot in fashion. "Er… No, no I haven't, Father. I was just looking for him myself."

Whether it had been appropriate or not, the older man asked no further questions on the matter. Instead he refocused his attention to his eldest child, a frown of worry chiselled into his mature features. "How are _you_ feeling, Scott? Did everything run smoothly in Thunderbird Three?"

The Hood shrugged. "Everything went as well as could be expected."

"That's… good to hear." There was a marked pause within the sentence – one of doubt. Rubbing the back of his neck, Jeff hesitated to leave such doubt unnoticed. "Look, Scott, if there's anything troubling you, you know you can always come and talk to one of us. There's no reason to keep something locked up inside. It isn't good for you."

The Hood gritted his teeth at the words, holding back the spiteful remark which burned his tongue. Such words would only blow his cover and reveal him far too soon. Instead he flexed his hands from the fists he had inadvertently made, and answered in a calm, normalesque voice, "I know, Father, I know. If there was something wrong, you'd be the first to know."

He watched as a blink-and-you'd-miss-it frown flashed across the patriarch's face. It wasn't intended to be seen, but something in the expression had given Jeff Tracy away as to his sudden concern. Something the Hood had said had triggered the frown, but as to what he did not know. The Hood stood stock still, hoping not to give anything away in his reaction.

With a hearty sigh, Jeff turned to leave the room. "I'll try the kitchen. I know what Alan's appetite can be like." A foot placed over the threshold, Jeff turned back to look at his son once more. "Take care of yourself, Scott."

At such departing words the Hood felt himself draw back in surprise. What had he meant by them? Perhaps Jeff knew who his son really was.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

A soft rumble erupted through the floor as the passenger lift returned to the lounge, and from within the two brothers stepped out.

Both men had taken a few steps towards the lounge before one of them stopped in his tracks. Virgil stood his ground, folded his arms and waited for Gordon to eventually turn to face him. Both could hold a steely contest of wills when they chose to, deciding whose stubborn streak could hold out the longest. This time Virgil had laid down the challenge. Gordon turned when he noticed his brother stop in his tracks, and seeing the hard look in Virgil's eyes he knew he could not back down.

"You promised."

Gordon sighed, knowing full well he should have been expecting this conversation once they landed home. "Look, Virg, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm covered in soot and sweat. I want nothing more than a hot shower, a slice of Grandma's pie she baked this afternoon and then sleep."

Virgil's eyebrow twitched. "You _promised_, Gords." The emphasis on the word swinging the challenge in his favour.

"It's not hurting anymore, I swear!" Gordon held his hands up as if to prove the point – not quite in surrender, but not far from it.

"_You promis –_"

"Okay, okay! I'll go and see Brains and get it checked over. What I have to do to get some peace in this place!"

Virgil watched his brother grudgingly march towards Brains' lab with a smirk creeping onto his face. He craned his neck round to watch as the red-head disappeared down the corridor and out of sight. Only then allowing his arms to drop to his sides, the Thunderbird pilot walked over to the corridor leading to his room. The anticipation of the welcome warmth of the shower, and afterwards the sweet taste of his grandmother's baking. It was enough to make him salivate at the thought.

All five brothers were well known for enormous appetites, especially after a long, tiresome day of rescues. Virgil knew he would have to be quick though – Gordon wasn't one to leave a piece for any of the others if he could get away with it.

Once his shower was complete then he would see to a rather urgent and troublesome matter.

Namely, Scott.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"Is there any more of your pie, Grandma? It's fantastic!"

Ruth Tracy studied her youngest grandson, charm raising her lips into a smile. "Young Alan, you've had two slices, which is plenty. Honestly, I have to set booby traps just to keep my pies safe from your grubby fingers!"

Alan's head drooped to one side, wide puppy dog eyes preying on her sympathy. "Aw, but I've missed your food for a whole month!"

Ruth noticed the devious glint in his eyes and took hold of the wooden spoon on the work surface nearby. She only had to wave it in front of the blonde's face to act as a warning against anything he had planned.

"I know what you're thinking, Alan Tracy. You're just like your father, in so many predictable ways."

"In which particular ways, Ma?"

Jeff leant cross-armed against the doorframe, having witnessed the interplay between his mother and son – a game of experience versus cunning. Experience always won, which was why his mother more or less claimed victory to such mind games.

"Hi Dad!" Alan greeted warmly, walking over to his father and embracing him in a hug.

"Alan, it's good to see you. And it's good to know your passion for cuisine is still as strong as ever." At this Ruth's smile broadened.

"Aw, come on Dad – I'm not _that_ bad, am I?"

Ruth crossed her arms to contest the statement. "Believe me, having one growing, testosterone-pumped male to feed was bad enough. Having _five_ of you to cater for…"

Both father and son laughed at the comment. Jeff's arm flopped around his son, turning to his mother to ask, "Well, Ma, if you've finished filling this bottomless pit," he patted Alan's shoulder in emphasis. "I'd like to pull him away for a chat."

"Of course you can take him, Jeff. I've been holding him back from the rest of my pie with a spoon for the past few minutes."

"Then I'll take him off your hands. Come on Alan, we have some catching up to do."

Alan smiled, but then pouted at the thought of leaving the pie behind. "The sacrifices I have to make…" was the last thing Ruth caught as the two men left the kitchen.

Tidying away the used cutlery and plates, it wasn't long before the sounds of footsteps snatched her attention again, arriving almost on expected time, from another rescue.

She was pleasantly surprised to find the ruffled chestnut locks of Virgil Tracy enter the room, having expected Gordon to make a dash for the kitchen the second they had arrived back home.

"Hello, Virgil. Are you hungry? Alan's left plenty for the rest of you, I can assure you."

It was hard to miss the lines of anxiousness that creased Virgil's face as he walked to the table. "Virgil, honey, what's wrong?"

Virgil started, though pulled from his reverie. With the question the look disappeared from Virgil's face, camouflaged with a covering expression of neutrality. "Nothing, Grandma. It's nothing, I hope." Hoping to divert the army of questions his grandmother would no doubt send his way, he rubbed his hands together in eagerness and looked to the pie. "So, where's this delicious pie I've heard so much about?"

The play did not stop his grandmother's scrutinising eye from seeing through his mask. But she couldn't force him to talk. If there was one thing she knew about Virgil, was that he would only talk when he was willing.

Happy to oblige, Ruth served him a slice and then turned to exit the room. Turning back to add a note, she said, "Oh, Virgil, mind that Gordon doesn't eat the rest of the pie will you?" Virgil simply nodded.

"Where _is_ Gordon, anyway? I thought he would have been the first in here."

"He went to go see Brains about his back. He pulled out his back on the rescue, so I told him to have it checked out."

The matriarch wasn't going to leave it there, placing hands on hips in demand. "He's all right, isn't he? Oh, I hope it's nothing serious."

"I'm sure he's fine, Grandma. It's only a precaution, that's all." Virgil looked up to her and smiled; a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"That's a relief. Well, just make sure he leaves some for your father, Scott and Brains. I know Scott will definitely want to have some."

At the mention of Scott's name Virgil's face fell back into the anxious expression he had displayed before. But it was quick to vanish, hidden behind a shrug and "I will" in reply.

Ruth left him alone to his thoughts, knowing the peace would do Virgil more good than talking. She wasn't sure, but both Virgil and John often liked to seek out the quieter areas of the island when their minds were troubled. Gordon liked to swim away his problems, while Scott often walked out to the platform leading to Thunderbird One's entrance hatch.

Whatever was on Virgil's mind, he would hopefully work it out soon.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

_What the hell could be wrong with Scott? He's hardly spoken to any of us since the incident in Canada. John and I suspected sabotage, and even Dad thought there was something suspicious about the call-out, so maybe something did happen out there that he either refuses to talk about or can't even remember._

_Could it be concussion? Is his injury worse than we imagined? But everything else seems fine._

_Something's wrong, something is definitely wrong…_

Virgil's thoughts echoed against the walls in his head. The kitchen was deserted, excluding him, hands held out in thought. Scott's noisy shuffle into the room screeched his entry to Virgil's ears, who turned to look at his older brother – or who at least _looked_ like his older brother – with a scowl.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The Hood swallowed back the small nerves that were building, sensing hostility from this man that he had not felt before. His first instinct was that his true identity had been discovered.

Keeping his expression neutral, the Hood sat in a chair beside the Tracy and waited. He still needed the code to access Thunderbird Two's hangar, and who better to get it from than her pilot. Looking at the apple pie on the table, the Hood pushed the plate away in disgust.

Virgil's brown eyes stared into the Hood's blue ones, scrutinising him from the inside out. No words were exchanged, but a whole conversation had been covered by the time Virgil spoke. The words he eventually expressed sent a shiver creeping down the Hood's spine, right to the ends of his fingers.

"You're not my brother."

There was no reply to that statement. Instinctively he reached out a hand to take hold of Virgil's wrist, eager to utilise his power to wipe such a memory clean. But almost as though Virgil had read his mind he shifted his arm out of reach of the Hood's grasp. In quiet surprise the Hood sat, shaken; a small whisper of "What?" escaping his lips before he had even realised.

Virgil appeared not to need to contemplate his answer, its surety apparent. "The Scott I know doesn't hide anything; he never has. Whoever the hell _you_ are, you're not Scott Tracy." Pushing himself back from the table, he added, "I want my brother back."

"Your brother? But… Where are you going?" the Hood hastily asked to Virgil's back, now certain he had to take some action to prevent the revelation of his identity.

"To find my _real_ brother. I'm going to ask that we get you sent to see a specialist."

"But I'm right here! There's nothing wrong with me, Virgil!" The Hood's mind was working furiously to come up with something to prevent this brother from leaving. A sudden flash of inspiration knocked him hard, his last chance to prevent a disaster.

"Second of September, twenty-twelve – our mother's birth date!" His exclamation was spat with such conviction he'd almost convinced himself that he was Scott Tracy.

Virgil paused in his tracks – the desired effect taking shape – and turned to look his brother in the eye. "What?"

"Second of September, that was our mother's birthday. Now how would I have known that if I wasn't her son?" He saw the cloud of confusion in Virgil's eyes. Virgil had been forced to take a step back.

Slowly Virgil made his way back to the table, caught off-balance by the revelation. He didn't sit down, but instead leant forward onto the table, deep in thought. It wasn't long before he replied with more doubt. "I don't know; you've been behaving so strange, so... isolated." He shook his head to try and clear the confusion. "I sure as hell don't know what's been going through your head recently."

"A lot of things have been going through my head. It doesn't mean I'm not... _me_."

"That's a load of crock, Sco –" The name had almost slipped out. This wasn't his brother, but his tired mind was working overtime. "It's not you."

The Hood knew he needed something to convince the man before him that he was who he was proclaiming to be. "Virgil, you're exhausted. We all are. You're not thinking straight. Look," he held a hand out dramatically. "There _is_ something I haven't told you."

Virgil's eyes locked onto him like a targeting device, Scott's figure dead centre in the crosshairs. John's words had come back to haunt the younger man, reminding him why he was here in the first place, facing up to his fears. "What… what haven't you told me?"

A staged sigh, then a shift in position as the Hood tried to place himself in Scott's frame of mind. "Back in Canada, before you found me. I was attacked by the Hood."

Virgil blinked in surprise, the visible impact of the statement knocking him off balance. "The Hood?"

"Yes, the Hood." He nodded his head for emphasis. "He… He came up from behind, grabbed my arm and tried to inject me with something – a sedative maybe, or some other drug.

"I knocked him to the floor and tried to subdue him when he must have grabbed a rock. He hit me, on the side of the head, cutting it open." He traced a finger down the cut on his temple, along the length of the rough scab that had formed. A flood of memories washed over him, rushing through his mind in a blur, almost giving him motion sickness. He remembered how the real Scott had smacked him hard with the Neanderthal-type weapon, almost to the point of unconsciousness. The headache had been a nasty reminder.

"So you didn't faint?" It was though a frosty screen had lifted from Virgil's mind, clarity now fully exposed. His eyes cast an examining glance over the cut Scott's fingers had traced, making him hiss and wince at the thought the impact the rock had had.

But still Virgil remained wary. "Why didn't you tell us about it? Why lie?" he asked sceptically.

The Hood gave a light shrug, as though the issue didn't matter. He was only waiting for the ideal opportunity to erase this entire conversation. "I didn't want to worry you. Besides, the _Hood,_" he spat with faked hatred, "Didn't achieve anything. I was fortunate that you arrived when you did, or else it could have been much worse." Like a spider creeping towards a innocent fly entangled in its web, the Hood was creeping his way closer to Virgil.

"You didn't want to worry us? Jeez, Scott, this is _the Hood_ we're talking about. The one person in the world who would want to see the destruction of International Rescue more than anything else."

Virgil mistakenly leaned forward on the table, placing an arm stretched out before Scott in an offering of reassurance.

Belah spied his chance, and as quick as lightning grabbed the young Tracy's wrist, locking his hold. Virgil squirmed against the hold, suddenly fearful from the tightness with which Scott had grabbed him. "Scott, what the hell are you doing?" His speech began to slur as the effects of the Hood's power slowly took control.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The pain came with an immense force, hitting him hard like a ten-tonne truck. Virgil bit his bottom lip in an attempt to will away the pain, but it only increased. Clamping his eyes shut, he felt his head thump and expected it to explode. But then, as the control cloaked him, the pain suddenly vanished. He warily opened his eyes, looking down at the hand that held his.

He never lifted his eyes from his wrist as a strange voice sounded its welcome in his head.

_Hello, Virgil._

_**What…? Scott?**_

There was the feeling of ice emanating from a smile so evil and cold. _Do not worry my friend. I will not hurt you._

A frown fell into place on Virgil's brow. _**What's happening?**_ It was only then he realised he was speaking to Scott, but not vocally. Their father and other brothers had always said they had a psychic connection, but he never took them to mean literally.

_There is nothing to be afraid of. All you need to remember is what I have told you._

_**What…you told…me.**_

_Yes, my friend. I _was_ attacked by the Hood, but I am safe. But, I am afraid to ask further for your help._

_**Help…**_

Behind Virgil, Belah caught sight of movement in the background. There was a presence of pureness, of great wisdom, and he didn't need any guesses to know who it was.

The graceful figure of Kyrano walked into the kitchen, passing the table at which the two Tracy men sat. The Hood, still holding onto Virgil's wrist, dropped his hand below the edge of the table to hide what he was doing. Kyrano would know if he saw.

Kyrano looked over to the two men in curiosity. The scowl he received from Scott made him draw back slightly. The glare spoke volumes; unwelcoming and deceptive, the likes Scott had never expressed.

The Hood threw a horrible scowl over to his half-brother, hating the mortal sight of him. Not wanting to waste any more of his energy on someone who, to him, was worth less than the air he breathed, the Hood turned his attention back to man sat across from him.

_I need you to give me some information. Surely you would not refuse to help your brother?_

Virgil paused, not wanting to continue, his head screaming to stop. But the voice was so controlling, and soothing.

_**What information?**_

_I need to know the pass code to enter Thunderbird Two's hangar. Will you tell me what it is?_

The very words gripped Virgil's heart. He wanted to say no, determined to stand his ground. But this was his brother, whom he never refused anything.

_**Why? Why…do you need…to know?**_

_Why are you reluctant to help me?_

_**I'm…I'm not…**_

_The code, Virgil. You _know_, deep in your heart, you can trust me, your best friend._ Like a serpent with the tempting apple.

There was a tense pause, during which the Hood felt the tug of emotions inside Virgil, pulling him in several directions at once. The string of indecision finally gave way, the answer hanging in front for the Hood to take.

_**The code… The code is… two… seven one… seven… nine… fi –**_

A sudden touch on his shoulder threw Belah back into the real world. He spun around quickly, his eyes shooting up to level with the auburn ones belonging to Kyrano.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Kyrano had seen the blank expression on Virgil's face, and had walked over in concern. There were no words passing between them, but it appeared an entire conversation was being exchanged.

Looking at Scott, Kyrano had placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. What he hadn't expected hit him like a tornado. Suddenly the touch had made a connection between him and the oldest Tracy son.

Or rather, between him and the person he least expected to find.

Images flashed through his mind; images of the past few days, along with a sense of a dark and evil presence he would recognise anywhere.

On the Hood's side, the touch generated the same images of his escapades inside Scott's body. Their heart rates increased, and their adrenaline hit sky high, until the energy passing between them literally threw Kyrano's hand away. He staggered back, staring at Scott in shock as he realised without doubt who Scott _truly_ was.

"You…"

The Hood threw himself from the table, stumbling backwards until his back hit the work surface at the side. Belah Gaat had never felt such anger, such hate boil inside him. He was steaming with rage, his hands squeezed into tight fists and his teeth clenched together like a vice.

Seeing the fear in Kyrano's eyes, the Hood felt a desperate need to rid himself of the disease he was related to.

With anger-fuelled speed he turned, reached out, and pulled a knife from the knife rack. The blade glinted under the glaring beam of the artificial light that reached into the room with glowing fingers. Kyrano jumped back from the weapon as it was thrashed out at him, missing his chest by mere inches.

Kyrano staggered back trying to escape the blade, avoiding turning his back. With a deafening clatter a bowl fell to the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces of various shapes and sizes; a jigsaw of fragility, spread across the tile floor.

The Hood lunged for him again, slashing at thin air. His eyes glowed red, death misting over them, glaring directly at Kyrano.

This time he would end it for good.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The mist surrounding Virgil's head suddenly evaporated, allowing clarity and control to filter back in. Shaking his head to clear it, he heard the sound of calls as Scott's hand gripped onto a knife in front of him.

This wasn't the Scott he knew.

Virgil watched with horror as not-Scott lunged at Kyrano, determined to spear the man-servant in the heart. With reflexes quicker than a starter's pistol, and without question, Virgil leapt from the chair and lunged at imposter-Scott.

The Hood raised the knife above his head to slash out again, but a force grabbed hold of his hand from behind to prevent him. Glancing back, he caught a glimpse of Virgil's figure reach round and grab onto his arm; the force pulling them both backwards into the cupboards behind.

Virgil felt the edge of the worktop dig into his lower back, but refused to let go. Flicking his eyes over at Kyrano, he saw the Malaysian rush forward to try and take the knife away from the Hood. But the Hood's strength was too much, and Virgil's grip soon slipped.

His hand free again, and with the second-oldest Tracy son still clinging to his back, the Hood swiped out again at Kyrano, this time the blade slashing open his forearm. Blood gushed from the wound, and instinctively Kyrano reeled back from the attack, clamping his hand over the wound to stem the flow.

Virgil's eyes widened in horror, but quickly narrowed with a renewed determination to disarm this man. He knew now this wasn't his brother – the real Scott would rather slash his own wrists than harm any of his family or friends.

Finding an energy source deep below, Virgil drew upon it and grabbed not-Scott's wrist again. This time the Hood slashed the knife behind him, the blade facing backwards. There was a thud as the knife was stabbed into one of the cupboard doors, narrowly missing Virgil's leg.

The Hood lost his grip on his weapon, leaving it quivering in the cupboard door. He felt the pressure on his back and around his throat as the younger man tried to force him down. Poor fool, didn't he realise strength did not involve just muscles?

He grabbed Virgil's arm around his neck and threw him forward onto the dinner table hard, cracking the surface with the Tracy's back. Virgil gasped in pain and shock, but refused to let go.

Belah had counted on that.

Pulling out his bracelet and sliding it on, the Hood took hold of Virgil's shirt front and sneered. Then he ran, like a bull charging towards the red cape of the matador, sliding his victim along the table's surface, heading directly for the large kitchen window dead ahead.

Virgil looked up, but realised only at the last second what was about to happen as he was dragged with unnatural strength towards the glass.

With magic the Hood had enough strength to throw an elephant; a feat he proved as he effortlessly flung Virgil's body at the glass.

On impact the glass exploded.

There was a thunderous crash as the tiny fragments sprayed out in every direction. For a few seconds Virgil felt weightless. He felt the tiny shards nip and cut his skin, prickly like the thorns of a rose bush, every one of them drawing tiny spots of blood – some more than others. He felt like he was flying, never reaching the floor until his body found the hard ground with a sickening thud. His back and shoulder hit first; his head following closely, hitting the stonework hard.

Glass particles rained on him as he curled into a ball, shielding his face with his hands. His lungs fought to retrieve the air that had been pushed out by the force of the impact. Without realising it his hands were shaking, the shock setting in quickly among the fear and adrenaline rush. His eyes squeezed shut, he heard Kyrano's scream and further crashing before his mind shut down, and the darkness took hold.

He heard no more.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Jeff had taken up position in the lounge when the air-splitting shatter of glass pierced the calm. Ruth sat across from him, busily working on her knitting, whilst Alan was elsewhere, no doubt with Tin-Tin.

The sudden crash startled both mother and son. Disorientated, they looked around, trying to pinpoint where the sound had originated.

It was Jeff who proposed the answer. "That sounded as though it came from the kitchen. What on earth…?"

Jeff darted for the door – his mother taking to her own slower speed –heading for the staircase that led down to the lower level. Turning back to his mother, Jeff told her to stay where she was as he continued onwards down the hallway.

Gordon emerged from his room, his hair dripping wet from his refreshing shower. The crash had brought him out to investigate, just in time to see his father rush past in the direction of the kitchen. Careful of his back, Gordon followed.

Jeff's heightened intrigue pushed him faster, almost crashing into Alan and Tin-Tin who were heading for the source also.

"You heard it too, huh?" Alan called out as his father and brother passed him, turning towards the kitchen. Jeff assumed the lead, placing himself in front of everyone since he had no idea what to expect.

As they finally reached the room, Jeff's eyes widened in horror at what he saw. It was a sight he would never have expected to see anywhere, not at least in his own home.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Kyrano could only watch helplessly as the Hood raced towards the window, dragging Virgil with him. With a swift turn he threw the Tracy son with immense strength, tossing him as effortlessly as a puppet cut from its strings. An ear-piercing shatter echoed through the room and no doubt through the rest of the Villa.

The Hood wasted no time in watching where Virgil landed, instead turning his focus back to his original intentions. He lunged once again at the knife he had plunged into the wood-panel door, just as Kyrano reached out to block him. Kyrano struggled to try and hold the Hood back but it was no use; he was swatted away like a fly by a firm flick of a hand.

Blood smeared the floor, handprints dotted all over from where Kyrano had scrambled to reach the knife. Kyrano slipped on it and almost lost his balance, regaining it just as the Hood wrenched the knife free. Once again, he lunged at Kyrano with inhuman speed.

The Hood held the knife above Kyrano, prepared to stab him through the heart, when a figure entered the room and stopped him in his tracks. He reactively grabbed Kyrano by the shoulder and dragged him close to his body, wrapping an arm around the hostage's neck and pressing the knife into the middle of his back. He sneered into Kyrano's ear, feeling the younger man's shiver beneath his hold.

Turning round to the figure that had entered moments before, he wasn't surprised to find Jeff Tracy standing before him wearing a face of pure shock.

The two youngest sons soon stepped behind their father, with Tin-Tin at their back. All wore a similar expression; one which made the Hood's lips curl with satisfaction.

"Scott? Scott, what the hell is going on?! What are you doing?" Jeff demanded.

The Hood watched as the red-head spied the broken window, tracing the outline of the fractured glass with his eyes.

His curled lips widened into a malice grin. This hadn't been what he had planned, but certainly he would not pass up the opportunity to see Jeff Tracy squirm before him.

"Scott, I want you to put the knife down _now_. Please, Scott."

Once again the Hood sneered, hissing threateningly like a rattlesnake. He licked his lips in delight, and as his words left said lips he felt the tension in the atmosphere tighten even more.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but _Scott isn't here anymore…_"


	14. Nothing Matters Until It's Personal

_Oh wow, can I just say I'm overwhelmed by the reviews I received for the last chapter. Thank you, _thank you_ ever so much! You've all been very kind!_

_Not long to go now - we're nearing the end of this tale. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 13: Nothing Matters Until It's Personal**

Another hour in this cockpit, and Scott was sure he would be fused to the seat.

His leg muscles had gone to sleep hours ago, stuck in the position since he had taken off from Canada nearly five and a half hours before. His hand had stopped aching, but he feared that was only because of the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins at the thought of how close to home he was.

Granted he'd have gotten there much quicker if he'd hijacked a military jet.

Home…

He sucked in a breath. What was he going to do once he landed? How was he going to explain who he was? He had no proof, except for his own memories.

And even in this time memories could be forged just as easily as a credit card, if that person knew what he was doing.

Then there was the little problem of the Hood being there, surrounded by his family and friends with some of the greatest technology available. Scott admitted to himself it wasn't going to be easy to convince them.

That was, if he even made it there in one piece.

Glancing down at the instrument panel he checked over the readings for what had to be the twentieth time in the past twenty minutes, as though the power of his mind could increase his air speed or reduce drag. Next to the control column was the radio, switched off hours before to shut out the constant bombardment of incoming messages and attempts of contact. If he didn't hear it, he couldn't respond to any of it. After the first half-hour the messages had began to irritate him anyhow. But what the hell, the noise would break up the silence and give him something other than his own demons to think about.

Switching the dial the radio burst into a lively mix of static and voices, flooding the cockpit. Once again the messages started requesting his response.

"_Charlie Foxtrot Alfa Bravo Tango this is Kukuk Airfield – please respond."_

Scott ignored the call, not wishing to enter into the mess of handling a stolen plane. Instead, with his good hand, he lifted the radio receiver and proceeded to try and establish contact with the 'man in space'.

"Calling International Rescue; International Rescue, please respond, over." He tried to lower his voice to disguise it, make it sound less threatening.

There was no response.

"Calling International Rescue! This is an emergency, please answer!" It was very true – his family's lives were under threat.

"_This is International Rescue. Please state the nature of your emergency."_

It was the voice of his faithful brother John; the voice that had brought comfort to him through the toughest and most demanding of rescues. The angel that sat on his shoulder with a warm glow.

"This is Charlie Foxtrot Alfa Bravo Tango requesting guidance for landing at runway zero one, Tracy Island, over."

There was a painful pause; Scott could picture John mulling over what he had just heard and how best to respond. There were two possible choices – deny all knowledge and protect IR's base, or treat as a hoax and refuse the request for help, which would go against everything IR stood for in helping those in need. Scott hedged his bets with the first outcome.

It took a few moments for John to recover the power of his voice. His response though, made Scott beam. _"I'm sorry, please restate your request."_

Scott took a deep breath, and prepared for the battle of his life. "This is Scott Tracy requesting permission to land. My I.D. is _zero-too-sierra-tango-alfa-wun_; my password is listed as 'green field', over." There was another pause, this time ended by Scott as he continued. "John, I _need_ to land back home."

"_Scott?" _The one word was exhaled on a breath of relief and surprise. _"Scott, is that really you?"_

"It sure is, brother. Looking a little different than you remember, but I'm still the same inside."

Scott's smile radiated from his face, at long last feeling some kind of acceptance. The Fates had changed in his favour for the first time since his ordeal had begun, unexpected but welcomed with open arms. But the silence that came from John between each communication was unsettling.

"_I… Can you prove… who you are?"_ John finally stuttered, as though the request was against every sacred right to privacy he knew. _"That information could have been leaked."_

"Leaked?" Scott couldn't believe his ears. Only those living on the island knew his identity and password, and even then that was kept to a minimal.

"_We currently have a security leak, meaning all information is considered unprotected until the leak is sourced. Sorry, but I can't simply take your word for it."_ John's tone of professionalism was covering any nervousness he was feeling.

True, John was only following protocol, and if security _was_ breached… "Oh God, no." Scott knew it had to involve the Hood somewhere. He didn't have time for twenty questions. "Are we on a secure channel?"

"_Yes."_

"All right, listen to me, John. Our mother's maiden name was Thomas. She married our dad on the 21st January, 2034. Dad's name is Jefferson, yours is John Glenn. We have three other brothers – Virgil, Gordon and Alan – and our Grandma is called Ruth."

It was an unusual situation. For the one time he needed to recite his family history, personal details and everything else he knew about each of them his head was empty. He drew a complete blank. He thought fast, and it hit him. He knew exactly what to say to get his brother's attention.

_I know what will convince you! If this doesn't then nothing will._ "You remember the time you hacked into the school's records to check what your official attendance record was, just to prove a point to Gordon? And then there was the time you broke your arm, and you told Dad that you did it falling off a chair when in fact you'd been up to Mary Keane's house and climbed up the oak tree to her bedroom window? The branch had given way and you fell out, and Dad _still_ to this day doesn't know about it? And – "

"_I remember! You told me to stay away from her because she was seeing Mike Fisher at the time – the worst bully in the entire school! I remember! God, I remember…"_ John scoffed at the recollection. _"Scott, is that really you?"_

"One and the same, Star Man."

"_Welcome back Scott! Oh God, I've been going crazy thinking _you'd_ gone crazy. It's all been… crazy!"_ The bright spark in John's voice brought a comforting smile to Scott's lips. Both were happy to hear each other again.

If the situation had been different, Scott would have laughed at the comment. "What's happening at Base? What 'security leak' are you referring to?"

John's tone lowered once again. _"We thought there was a leak when we got your previous call. Dad was worried we had a breach of security, especially when you claimed to know our names."_

Scott felt the twinge of guilt for the unnecessary worry. "Oh God, I wasn't thinking was I? I could seriously have screwed everything up."

"_Don't worry about it, we had it covered."_ A beep in the background alerted John to an incoming call. _"Hold on Scott, Dad's calling."_

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"…_Scott isn't here anymore…"_

The words echoed in everyone's heads; a seemingly impossible scenario that answered a wealth of questions. The Hood could see the changes in body language between the three Tracy men and the young woman as they took in his few short words. For an eternal silence they stood rigid to the spot, watching the Hood with eyes filled with scepticism comingled with disbelief.

Jeff was the first to find his voice, as croaky and weak as it could sound. "What…? Who are you?"

Kyrano's hands gripped the muscular arm around his neck. The same arm that had been used to train in the island gym, hour after hour to build upper-body strength.

The same arm that could easily snap his neck.

Staring straight at his dear friend, he whispered to Jeff between gasps for breath against the stranglehold. "Belah… The… The Hood…"

He was relieved to see Jeff's eyes widen, evidence he had heard. Everything in Jeff's gut sank into a black pit, burying him with dread.

The Hood had found them.

"Hood…" Jeff could only whisper, hatred dripping from the words, tasting bitter in his mouth.

"Congratulations, Mr. Tracy. I see your powers of deduction are sharp." Kyrano tried to pull against his arm, but the Hood tightened his hold on his hostage, pushing the knife further into his back in warning. "That gives me greater confidence that you can deduce what will happen to your _slave_ here, should you or anyone else try to follow us." He pulled Kyrano closer to him for emphasis.

With those words the Hood started to back out of the room, heading for the corridor that led to the monorail. The good family Tracy and Tin-Tin could only watch with fear as Kyrano was dragged away, the knife still held dangerously to his back. They knew that one false move and the knife could sever Kyrano's spinal cord, paralysing him if it didn't kill him.

As soon as they had disappeared from the room, Jeff raised his wrist comm. to open communications with John. "Base to Thunderbird Five, come in."

"_Thunderbird Five receiving you, Father."_

"John, I want you to track Scott's wrist comm. I need to know where it's heading."

"_F.A.B. Father."_

From behind him Alan, Gordon and Tin-Tin rushed towards the shattered remains of the window, peering outside to find Virgil's injured figure lying unconscious amongst the broken glass. They took little time to reach him.

Jeff was close behind as Tin-Tin knelt by Virgil's head, checking his pulse. It was steady and strong. The father looked down worriedly at his second-eldest. "How is he, Tin-Tin?"

Alan and Gordon were at the opposite side, both equally as worried. "His pulse is strong and his breathing is steady. I don't think… Wait a minute – I think he's waking up."

Four pairs of eyes watched on anxiously as Virgil's eyelids flickered open.

"Virgil? Virgil can you hear me?" Jeff's deep baritone voice called softly.

At first Virgil squinted, finding it hard to see more than the outline of the four figures, silhouetted against the early evening sky. Gradually the shadows formed familiar faces as his mind stopped swimming.

"Dad?" He tried to sit up, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Take it easy, Virgil, you've been injured. Just lie still."

Obeying his father Virgil lay back, but not with ease. Glancing around, confusion set in momentarily until a flash of recollection sprang to mind, telling him where he was and how he had got there.

His breathing increased as the shock set in, an anxious look flashing across his face.

"The Hood! Where –" Virgil was cut off as Jeff's wrist comm. began to bleep.

"Go ahead John."

"_Scott's wrist comm. indicates he's in the monorail, heading to Thunderbird Two's hangar."_ Virgil blanched at the message.

"Thanks John. Keep me updated to any changes." As a plan began to form in his mind, Jeff quickly added, "Oh and John, I want you to alert Brains for me. Tell him to meet us in Lab One with the tranquilliser darts prepared."

"_F.A.B. I'll do that right away. Uh, Father?"_

Jeff was about to cut the connection, not expecting the follow-up. "Yes, John?"

"_You're not going to believe this, but I'm in contact with Scott. The _real_ Scott."_

"Scott? Why, where is he?" All surrounding ears were focused on his conversation at that point. By this time Virgil had managed to sit up, feeling his face sting from the small cuts.

"_He's on a private plane flying here as we speak."_

The Tracy patriarch wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. "Er… Thanks, John. You'll have to advise him with landing. We've got a breach in security we need to neutralise as soon as possible, but keep me posted on progress. Kyrano's been taken hostage, so whatever you do don't do anything without my word."

"_F.A.B. Father. Good luck. Thunderbird Five out."_

Tin-Tin placed a steadying hand on Virgil's shoulder, as all four looked to Jeff Tracy. The commander instilled in him took control and issued orders.

"Tin-Tin, you stay here with Virgil."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy."

"Gordon, Alan." He looked over to his two youngest. "You two come with me."

"Yes, Sir!" both chorused, rising to stand by their father. Jeff took one last scan of Virgil, ensuring he wasn't seriously hurt, then headed back to the villa with his other two sons in tow.

Taking the lead, Jeff continued to lay out his plan of action. "All right, boys, listen carefully. Gordon, I want you to go over to the secure storage bay and get three guns with telescopic sights. We'll rendezvous at Brains' lab."

The young man gave an affirmative nod and a quick "F.A.B." before moving away from the crowd.

Turning to his youngest, "Alan, come with me. Keep in contact with John for me. Relay any new information he may have as to the Hood's whereabouts or actions."

"F.A.B. Dad."

A fleeting glance passed between father and son, a confident smile trying to rise on Jeff's face. He felt a brief tinge of assurance that they _would_ get Scott back, somehow. That he wouldn't lose his most precious to the most evil of men who walked the same planet.

With gritted determination, Jeff took the lead once again as they headed to Brains' lab, preparing for war with the enemy.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The Hood was grateful for the extra strength Scott's body could provide in holding his hostage steady. Kyrano, though not the most physically strong of men his age, was managing to put up a good fight against his grasp. The knife prodding into his back, however, somewhat restricted his attempts to break free.

At one point Kyrano had even considered biting his brother's arm, but then the guilt that it was really Scott's arm he would be biting had killed that idea. Besides, knowing his almighty brother, he would place a mental block on the pain and would grit his teeth until Kyrano gave in. The knife would be forced further into the man servant's back before it reached that point anyhow.

Kyrano's breathing had quickened, both from panic and the grip holding him against his will. Scott, he knew from experience, was a strong and well-built individual who could hold his own in almost any fight. Now under the Hood's control, Kyrano didn't even want to consider just how powerful his evil brother could be.

Just before they had entered the carriage a thought had occurred to the Hood. Thinking back to earlier in the day – the early morning – he remembered how, when visiting Thunderbird One, the youngest brother had been able to locate him, and had spoken to him through his wristwatch. Locate...

The watch, of course! They knew exactly where he was on the island and, more importantly, where he would be heading. Tugging at the strap, the Hood had freed the communications device from his arm. With a quick glance back, he had tossed it onto the monorail platform. Examining Kyrano's arm he had found an identical item, on which he had used the knife to cut through the strap and dispose of it.

They had entered the carriage of the monorail, and very soon the train had been in motion. Kyrano was surprised by the efficiency of which the Hood knew how to operate the controls, telling him his brother must have been down here before. He shuddered at the thought.

Belah had released his hold on his brother once they were aboard, but kept the knife held out before him to act as a deterrent for anything his hostage was willing to try. Kyrano held his own daggers at him, wishing his brother bad karma instead.

"I know what you are thinking, _brother_." The Hood spat the word out in disgust, as though it had a horrible aftertaste. His words shuddered slightly as the monorail took another turn, heading in the direction of the cliff side hangar. "Your life means nothing to me – so much so I do not wish to waste any energy on slitting your throat." Kyrano's expression was one of hatred as he looked away. "Why, Kyrano, dear slave, I did not think your mind permitted you to form such poisonous thoughts. I am truly flattered."

"Such hateful thoughts are reserved only for the wicked of heart, Belah."

As though delighted with the comment, the Hood applauded with slow, sarcastic claps, a mild sense of admiration passing over his features. "Oh no, Kyrano. It is not hatred you have for me. It is pure envy that my powers should surpass yours."

Both men stared at each other; the Hood wanted to see fear in Kyrano's eyes, but Kyrano refused him the pleasure.

A beeping from the control panel signalled they were nearing their destination. Or rather, one of them was.

"It looks as though I am near my destination, on which you will not be coming with me. I am, after all, a very busy man and you," he pointed the knife at Kryano, "You are nothing but a liability to me now."

Kyrano shivered. Hearing such words with Scott's voice disturbed him.

With one swift, powerful move the Hood launched himself at the man servant, backhanding him into the back of the carriage. Kyrano struck his head on one of the seats, and within seconds he was unconscious. The Hood watched for a moment, making sure he wasn't going to wake up any time soon.

Removing the ribbon from Kyrano's robe, he turned the Malaysian over onto his front and quickly tied his hands together, immobilising him. Then, retrieving the knife, the Hood stepped onto the platform outside the security door leading to Thunderbird Two's home.

The code he had sucked from Virgil's mind had been incomplete – no thanks to his brother – but he was prepared to guess the last figure was 'five'. Tapping the six digits necessary, and waiting for the inevitable retinal scan, his code was eventually accepted.

With anticipation he entered the final cave of treasures.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"How close am I to Base, John?"

"_Approximately twenty miles. You're almost home."_

Scott was very relieved to hear those words again – far more than his brother could even imagine. "What's happening at home?"

"_It's not looking good. The Hood is free, and heading for the monorail, possibly to Thunderbird Two's hangar."_ There was some hesitation, before John finished. _"He's taken Kyrano as a hostage."_

"No," was the horrified whisper, knowing the situation had been stepped up a level in seriousness.

"_You can say that again. Although… Hold on… That's weird."_

"What is?"

"_Well, according to my scanners the Hood and Kyrano haven't moved from the monorail platform. It's as though they're waiting for something. Either that, or…"_

"…or they've removed their wrist comms," Scott finished flatly, wishing it wasn't true. "So that means they could –"

"_Damn it! Hold on a minute, Scott." _There was the flurried sound of typing, followed by an urgent call for attention. _"Alan, come in, this is urgent!"_

"_What's up, John?"_ Scott could barely hear the reply from Alan.

"_The Hood has removed both his and Kyrano's wrist comms." _A faint beep from the console clawed his attention._ "Thunderbird Two's security access code has just been entered. He's in the hangar."_

Though faint, Scott could hear the muffled curses from the youngest brother, followed by an exchange of words with someone in the background. Eventually Alan replied, _"Thanks John. We're heading there now."_

Staring out of the cockpit window, Scott could see the darkened outline of the familiar outcroppings of rocks and plantation he recognised as home. Tracy Island was dead ahead; the sun's fading rays bathing the Villa in an eerie purplish glow. "John, I'm almost there. How am I doing?"

"_Okay, Scott. You need to change your approach angle by zero-one-five degrees."_

"F.A.B. Changing course by zero-one-five degrees." Scott tilted the control yoke to the left with a sensitive touch, and the plane obeyed.

"_F.A.B. – you're looking good, Scott. Tracy Island should be dead ahead in your sights."_

Scanning his instruments again, Scott deduced, "All right, Thunderbird Five, descending to one thousand feet, preparing for landing." As an afterthought he added, "Wish me luck."

"_Wish _you_ luck? The ex-Air Force pilot with more air miles than a migrating swallow?"_

Scott snorted a laugh at his brother's incredulousness. "It never hurts to ask." Scanning the oncoming islands, he felt the anticipation twist his gut, slicken his hands.

"Right now, I need all the luck I can get."

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

By the time Jeff and Alan arrived at Brains' laboratory the scientist had already finished preparing the tranquiliser darts. All six were ready for collection, out on the workbench.

Now all they had to do was wait for Gordon.

"The, uh, darts are all there f-f-for you, Mr. Tracy. Will that be enough?" Brains studied his boss over his blue thick-rimmed glasses.

"Two each. It should be, Brains. I hope." Just as Jeff's last words had left his lips loud footsteps could be heard heading in their direction. Gordon sped around the corner with guns in hand, set up ready for the darts.

"Here we go, Dad." He spoke in between regaining his breath. Handing one each to his brother and father, he reached into his jeans back pocket to retrieve the sights they also needed.

Taking the sights, each man attached them to their weapons. In turn each took a dart and loaded it into the barrel of the gun, ensuring the safety was on before tucking it into their belt or pocket.

"All right you two, I want you to listen to me _very carefully._ At no point must either of you split up. You travel in pairs, no matter what happens. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Perfectly, Sir," Gordon enthused.

"Remember, this is the Hood we're dealing with. We don't know how powerful he is, especially since he is playing host to Scott's body right now. We want to avoid confrontation if possible, and hurting Scott's body..."

Jeff's sentence was disrupted by the bleeping of Alan's watch. Knowing it could only be John, he quickly responded to the call.

"_Alan, come in, this is urgent."_

Alan was taken aback momentarily by the urgency of John's voice. "What's up, John?"

"_The Hood has removed both his and Kyrano's wrist comms. Thunderbird Two's security access code has just been entered. He's in the hangar."_

"Damn!"

"You've got to be kidding!" Equal curses split from both siblings.

"Dad?" Both Alan and Gordon looked to their father, knowing their own assessments pretty much summed up what they all were thinking.

Jeff bit his lower lip as he mentally ran through the various options available. Selecting what he considered to be the best course of action, he relayed to Alan to alert John of their new destination. "Tell John we're on our way."

"Thanks John. We're heading there now." Alan signed off, not waiting for the usual acknowledgement to be given.

"The quickest route there will be via the passenger lift." Turning to the scientist nearby, he added, "Brains, could you go down and see to Virgil's injuries for me?"

"R-R-Right away, Mr. Tracy." Grabbing a nearby first aid kit Brains left the room.

Looking from one son to the other, Jeff knew he didn't really need to express his next thoughts. "Boys, I'm afraid the worst-case scenario has just happened. Let's hope we're not too late."

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Landing a plane was one procedure Scott knew from memory as clearly as he knew his own name. So why then was he nervous this time as he was about to land?

Another scan of the instruments displayed his gradual descent. With the flaps lowered and the landing gear extended, he was ready to set this baby back down on solid earth – or rather, solid concrete, though that thought didn't make it any better.

_500 feet…_

It was at times like this he was thankful he could fly a plane with his eyes closed, because he wasn't sure he could watch this approach. Flying with one hand was more difficult than he had anticipated.

_400 feet…_

Scott had left the radio switched on, a fact highlighted by the continuous calls for his response. The radio was only active for John to contact him.

Habitual glancing of his wrist reminded him he wasn't wearing his wrist comm – a fact that had bugged him since this whole mess had started.

_300 feet…_

He was angry; Scott wasn't prepared to even try and hide the fact. He wasn't revengeful in nature. He would be the first to admit he had a steaming hot temper at times but Scott wasn't the type who resorted to violence to solve his problems. Granted he wasn't the most gifted when it came to talking his way out of trouble – that was Gordon's and Alan's department – or even the most able in the use of the English language – cue John's department. But he was certainly able to bellow his way out of anything, taking after his father to an extent in the art of assuming control over a situation. It had been a skill he'd had years of practice to develop, with four little brothers as unwitting helpers, and a stint in the Air Force to perfect it.

_200 feet…_

This was it. This was show time, rising up to greet him full force. It was now or never. He just had time to send a quick prayer up to the heavens that whatever happened, his family would be safe.

_100 feet…_

Bracing himself for the inevitable impact, Scott held his breath as the final few feet of air was squeezed out from underneath the fuselage.

With a jolt the wheels squealed as they smacked the solid runway. Steam rose from the friction as the brakes were employed. Reverse thrust was applied, and the speedometer responded by indicating a gradual reduction in velocity.

The huge cliff side door loomed high above him as the plane travelled ever closer. The end of the runway closing in.

Scott sucked in a sharp breath. A breath he would hold for at least another thirty seconds.

Wincing hard, he watched through squinted eyes as the rock side closed in, metre by metre. Rubber tyres rolled over smooth tarmac, the few hundred pounds of weight digging in to pull the plane to a standstill.

A few more seconds, and the high-pitched whine of the wheels cut off. Scott's upper torso was thrown forward by the forward momentum as the craft came to a standstill, his restraints taking most of the force. Gingerly opening one eye to look out of the cockpit windows, the sight that greeted him sent a shiver down his spine.

The cliff side rock face was literally metres from touching the propellers of the small aeroplane.

Both eyes sprung open in shock, and Scott could do no more than take a shaky breath in and then exhale with a low whistle.

_Reminder to self: send a prayer of thanks to whoever heard me up there._

A faint laugh of relief spread a smile wide across his face, lasting a whole twenty seconds before a call came through on the radio.

"_Thunderbird Five to Scott, come in."_

"Go ahead John," Scott replied, trying to hold the handset with a shaky hand.

"_Are you all right?"_

Scott wished the space monitor could see the look on his face. The giddiness wasn't about to fade any time soon. "I think so. Boy that was close."

After a moment to settle his nerves, Scott's mind took on a more serious nature. "Has the situation with the Hood changed at all?"

"_Not as far as I can tell. Father, Gordon and Alan are on their way down via the passenger elevator. Virgil's in the kitchen with Tin-Tin, and Brains is on his way there. As far as I can tell, the Hood is still in the hangar."_ There was an audible swallow from John's end, before he asked, _"Scott, just what are you planning to do?"_

Removing the hand held radio he had taken from the guard back in Canada, Scott answered truthfully, "Honestly, John? I'm making this up as I go along." The answer even surprised him, as usually he would have had a plan mapped out before he began issuing orders.

"_Well, whatever you've got planned, watch yourself."_

Warmth filled his heart as it lifted his spirits – an indescribable feeling he only knew from the knowledge there were people who cared for him. "Will do, brother. I'll take the hand held with me so we can keep in contact. Changing to alternative frequency." With that, he turned off the radio.

Scott checked the gun one last time before securing it in his pocket, and then returned his attention to the smaller radio. "Scott Tracy to Thunderbird Five – John, you receiving me?"

"_Thunderbird Five receiving you loud and clear. Good luck, Scott. Keep in touch."_

"F.A.B." With that the connection was cut. Deciding it to be safer, Scott switched the volume of the radio to its lowest, until the static was quieter than the waves crashing against the shoreline outside.

With a forceful push he opened the door of the aircraft, allowing the sea breeze entry into the cockpit. The smell of the salty tropic air was a welcomed change to the cold climate of the northern hemisphere. But there was time for such luxuries later on.

Scott's muscles complained as they were moved for the first time in several hours. Stretching his legs, Scott pushed his weary body out onto the tarmac and winced as his weight fell onto tired limbs.

_One handy thing about almost crashing into the cliff side,_ Scott mused, _is that I don't have far to walk._

Holding out the gun Scott jogged over to the rock face, to the right-hand side where he knew there was a secret door built into the outer hangar door. With one hand incapacitated, Scott held the gun handle between his teeth as his good hand traced the rock for the small gap where the door was located.

His fingers found the edge of the door, which he followed until he found the small, silver, activation lever that opened the door. With a press of the lever the door began to slide back; the soft whirr of the mechanism building like an orchestra tuning up. Scott didn't even wait for the door to finish opening before he stepped inside, gun held in front, eyes scanning the shadows as his ears tuned to the silence.

His senses sharpened, his internal radar poised to detect even the faintest of movement, Scott stepped into the unknown, ready to expect the unexpected.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

It took a moment for Virgil to regain his bearings. Leaning on Tin-Tin for support, he waited for the wave of nausea to subside until he was confident he wasn't going to lose the contents of his stomach.

His father and brothers had disappeared back into the villa, to one of the labs. Tin-Tin had disappeared herself only to return with a small first aid kit to treat Virgil's injuries.

The would-be patient lifted a hand to decline the help, but Tin-Tin ignored the gesture. "Virgil, you've been cut. You may have pieces of glass embedded in your skin. At least let me take a look."

Virgil shook his head, pushing himself up onto his knees in order to stand. "No, I'm fine. I'm… I need to… help… my father."

"No Virgil, you're not 'fine'. You need to stay here. You're in no fit state to go chasing the Hood."

But Virgil wasn't listening. He was heading past the broken window towards the steps that led to the lounge. Tin-Tin was close behind, trying to hold him back as he staggered briefly from the dizziness in his head. "Virgil, please…"

They had almost reached the lounge when Brains found them. The scientist was surprised to see the Thunderbird pilot walking about, noticing the cuts and the trickles of blood on the left side of his face.

"Virgil, please listen to T-T-Tin-Tin. You n-n-need to, ah, sit down. You shouldn't be, uh, standing in your condition."

Sucking in a breath, Virgil tried to steady himself as best he could. "I need to stop the Hood. I need…"

"You need to stop being so stubborn and listen to reason," Tin-Tin softly fumed, sometimes wishing Virgil didn't share the same obsessive drive as the rest of his siblings. "Your father and brothers have already gone to help my father and to stop the Hood. Besides," she asked, wary of his answer, "what did you have in mind?"

At her question Virgil smiled, confident. "The quickest route."

With that he turned to the tall painting over in the corner of the room, standing with his back to the wall. Both Tin-Tin and Brains shared the same wide-eyed look as they recognised just what Virgil was doing. "Virgil, no!"

But it was all in vain. The second-eldest son activated the switch that flipped him over and down the slide towards the turntable. The portrait returned to its upright position, leaving Tin-Tin and Brains standing in silence.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

In the silence of the hangar, the Hood could finally exhale a sigh of comfort. He was alone, though he had no doubt that the posse wasn't far behind. A short walk from the secure entrance, the Hood found himself in the control bay overlooking the mighty green carrier; the workhorse of the International Rescue fleet, and arguably the most important asset to the rescue operations. He could only stare in disbelief; here he was, in the midst of the shadows, looking at such an engineering feat as this that few were privileged to witness so closely. He was struck with awe.

At the back of the tiny office stood a pair of filing cabinets, along with metal cupboards and storage compartments containing necessary tools and blue prints for the upkeep of Thunderbird Two.

Not surprisingly, when he pulled on one of the cabinet drawers it refused to budge. Locks had never presented a challenge to him, but in this case he didn't have the time to pick it. Besides, he knew there would be nothing of importance stored so openly and insecurely on the island.

Moving over to the screen overlooking the storage bay, the Hood looked out to the Thunderbird craft and the store of various smaller rescue vehicles parked along the back wall. Pulling out the digital camera, he began to take pictures of the machinery – the flash from the camera stabbing the shadows with needles of light.

His vision was limited from where he stood. He needed to get closer.

Close to the monorail entrance a thin stairway was located, accessing the lower levels. Eagerly the Hood walked over, taking hold of the handrail, about to take each step with a sense of urgency when the wave of an echo split through the silence of the hangar bay.

A low heavy thud, such as the slamming of a metallic door.

The sound seemed to originate from the far side of the hangar, back in the darkest, deepest shadows. He froze on the spot, and waited for the sign of another presence. He didn't have to wait long.

Over by the far area he could see a figure sneak through the sea of shadows, behind the reach of the overhead lighting. With equal stealth the Hood stalked down the remaining stairs and waded into the darkness, his eyes never leaving the figure who was now heading towards the machinery on the opposite side, across from the hangar door. He appeared to be searching for something, some_one_, which would be him, the Hood knew without doubt.

As the Hood moved, he glimpsed a flash of reflected light from an object the intruder carried. Though he was too far to see just what the object was, he had no doubt that it was a weapon of some sort – perhaps, he hoped, a gun.

Grasping the knife handle tighter, the Hood sidestepped into a corner, directly behind the Mole and the Excavator. The figure slowly began to move towards his location, hand held out in front carrying what now showed itself to be a hand gun. The broad shoulders and stocky build of the stalker, along with the familiar stature, told the Hood everything he needed to know about the identity of his 'friend'.

"Hello again," Belah whispered, a malicious tone thick with intent. "How did you manage to get back to the island?" An idea planted a seed in his mind as to how he could escape.

The Hood tiptoed forward, ducking behind where the Domo was parked. Taking hold of the knife, the Hood took careful aim and threw the object across until it hit the side wall; a loud clatter of metal against rock echoing from every angle.

As expected it grabbed his enemy's attention, seeking out the source of the sound, staring straight ahead for signs of any further activity.

The Hood watched as the familiar figure approached the Firefly, keeping a tight hold on the weapon as he scanned the area. With stealth of experience the Hood circled around the opposite side of the Domo, passing the front of the red appliance with expertly placed footsteps.

The predator was closing in on his prey.

Within a few swift steps the Hood was mere metres from his target. He knew he hadn't been heard. Taking a deep, silent breath the Malaysian hunter almost ran the last few steps towards the shadowy figure.

With strangled surprise the stranger turned at the sound of the Hood's approach. Wide, amber eyes locked onto ice blue ones, each man recognising the other in the split second it took for their senses to register the stimuli.

With a smile of pure sin, the Hood broke the silence.

"Hello, my friend."

He reached out and grabbed Scott's wrist.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Scott had heard the scuffle of feet behind, and had spun around to confront their owner. But as he had turned the shock at finding the Hood right behind him so close had thrown him into a mild paralysis. Every muscle tightened, and all response momentarily died. He almost didn't hear the malicious words spoken to him through his own body's lips, wavering in and out of focus like heat waves.

"Hello, my friend."

It took a few seconds for Scott's mind to register the face he was seeing was his own, but it gave the Hood enough time to lash out with a hand to grab Scott's gun hand. By the time Scott realised, it was already too late.

The all too familiar feeling of electricity surged through Scott as once again he felt his muscles involuntarily contract. His head screamed against the pain that flooded his body, through the arm held within the Hood's grip. Scott tried to stop it, pulling at his arm with as much strength as he could muster, but it was useless. His hand grew weak, dropping the gun with a loud clatter on the floor. The last thing he remembered seeing was the wide grin plastered along the Hood's face – or rather, _his_ face – before the searing pain began to tear him apart on the inside.

The Hood felt his essence seep from Scott's body, back into his own familiar body. Scott tried to cry out but instead felt the energy seep from him. Within a matter of seconds both men felt their energies transfer back to their rightful bodies. Scott's legs gave way, and he tumbled backwards onto the floor.

The Hood was the first to recover, a comforting relief at returning to his evil self. For a brief moment he felt a wave of dizziness pass over him, his eyes trained to the ground as he waited for his surroundings to stop spinning.

Next to his foot lay the discarded weapon.

Right-hand dominance meant he reached out with his right hand to retrieve the gun. Almost immediately the broken bones retaliated against the movement – a sharp pain stretching across the palm and his thumb joint. Hissing through clenched teeth, he retracted his hand into his chest and held it close in protection.

A soft moan from Scott alerted the Hood that he was regaining consciousness.

Belah Gaat lunged for the gun with his left hand, scrambling to reach the trigger just as Scott pushed himself unsteadily onto his knees.

Scott's senses were scrambled; all sounds and movement having little coherence. But one sound was distinctly recognisable above all as soon as it reached his ears, and it iced him to the core.

With cold calmness, the hammer of the gun was pulled back into place with a sharp click.

Scott didn't need to look up, knowing full well the Hood was looking down at him with a hateful and determined glint in his eyes. Scott instinctively froze, waiting for the Hood to make the first move.

"_Scott Tracy_," the Hood began, "you are the _last_ person I expected to see down here, considering I left you tied up in Canada."

Scott gritted his teeth, fighting back the retort he wanted to spit out with all the venom he could gather. But the position of power was out of his hands. He rose to his feet gingerly. "You can't hold me down for long, especially when you put my family in danger."

A soft whirr of motors overhead caught the attention of both men, though only Scott recognised the sound. It belonged to the passenger lift, and from his position it sounded like it was heading for the emergency control room.

He knew his father and brothers were coming.

The Hood refocused his attention to his hostage before him. "Obviously. I should have slit your throat when I had the chance."

"Well, you've got the chance now. Why don't you go ahead and shoot me?" Scott knew he was risking such a strategy, but he needed to buy a few extra seconds for his family.

"_Don't _even tempt me. Besides, I would never make it off this island without some form of security."

"You're damn right about that," Scott spat out, snarling with such anger he frightened himself.

The Hood was unprovoked, knowing this was only a show of dominance the Tracy son could not possibly expect to achieve. A spark of a thought suddenly changed his expression, as the realisation intensified as to Scott's true motives for such provocation. His eyes glowed with the knowledge, studying his prisoner.

"You really want me to shoot you, don't you?"

The question knocked Scott off guard a little. He lost some of his confidence that the Hood wouldn't pull the trigger, and doubted he wouldn't be able to delay the worst from happening. Though he didn't allow the surprise to show on his face.

Above them the motors ceased, signalling the arrival of the passenger lift at its destination. Scott sent a silent plea to the passengers to hurry, knowing there would be less than a second between him and a bullet, should the Hood decide to pull the trigger.

"You would give your life to aid my cause, knowing the heartache and suffering it would bring to your father and brothers?" There was taunting to the Hood's words, pleased at such a prospect. His heart was leaping at the idea.

Raising the gun to Scott's head, the Hood's grin stretched until it almost split his face in two.

"Very well then. Your wish is my command."


	15. Disillusionment Of A Sinner

_Hi! I'd just like to say this chapter is very short, and for that I am sorry. It's one of those chapters that had I put it with the previous or next chapter they would have been some 10,000 words, but on its own its only 2,000 words. I decided to leave it on its own, but it does mean you have to wait another week for the conclusion. Plus I like where I've left it (not sorry about that! Hehe). Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 14: Disillusionment Of A Sinner**

Scott stood steady, holding his head high despite his heart hammering in his chest. At the Hood's words his blood had frozen in his veins. He had been in many dangerous situations in his time, but never had he felt being a breath away from meeting his maker.

He hadn't travelled over six thousand miles for it all to end here.

Their eyes locked, Scott dared his enemy to take action. The Hood was more than willing to respond to such an offer.

Scott watched the finger tighten its hold on the trigger, imitating the tightness of the holder's sneer. The loud click of the bullet loading in the chamber was palpable, ready to fire.

"Hold it right there!"

The shout reverberated from every surface in the hangar, each molecule of air vibrating with amplified energy all around the two men. Both were startled from their staring contest, the Hood's head whipping around to the source of the voice that had boomed out with fear and warning.

"Slowly turn around." This time the order was given in a quieter voice, but one that still retained its edge of steel.

Scott desperately wanted to look up to see his father on the balcony above. He wanted to see Jeff Tracy's powerful figure watch over him, protecting him from the madman that was now holding him without mercy at gunpoint. But Scott didn't dare tear his eyes from the gun held at his head.

He was curious to see what the Hood would possibly do to escape this situation. Looking into his enemy's eyes, the Thunderbird One pilot was given no clue as to the man's thoughts or possible plan of action. He showed no fear, no compassion, and no willingness to stand down. Instead, he kept the gun levelled at Scott's head with an aim that was sure to direct a bullet straight through Scott's frontal lobes. And it wouldn't stop there.

If Scott didn't know any better the Hood's sneer had grown in feeling. The knot in his gut tightened.

For a few tense seconds nothing moved. Time had slowed to a crawl, whilst Scott's heartbeat had steadily increased to a run. An audible click from above broke the thick silence, as though to remind the two men that they were no longer the only people present in such drama.

Then without warning, the Hood lowered his gun and cleared his throat for what Scott could only presume was a proposal of a deal; that he would be willing to release Jeff's eldest son in return for his freedom.

The Hood, however, had other plans.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

The passenger lift had barely stopped moving before Jeff jumped out into the emergency control room. Darts already loaded in the chamber of his gun, he headed for the doors and quickly punched the keypad, his two youngest sons close behind him.

The doors opened to reveal the balcony overlooking the storage bay. Below them, a forty foot drop, and a scenario playing out that Jeff never imagined seeing on the island.

The Hood. An invader of their home, their sanctuary. In possession of his eldest child's body.

There was no greater incentive.

Jeff placed his gun on the balcony rail, cocked back the hammer and levelled his weapon at their enemy.

Collecting his thoughts together, he called out, "Hold it right there!"

Scott – Scott's body, at least –stood with his back to Jeff. He couldn't see the Hood's body, who stood out-of-view amidst the dark shadows behind Scott's muscular figure. But if what Jeff had witnessed in the kitchen was true, then the Hood was in fact his son, Scott.

Neither man moved, though the tension was thick as each man heard his words vibrate in their ears.

Jeff knew he needed to remain calm; this time his tone was lower but equally authoritative. "Slowly turn around."

He knew if it was Scott he would obey in a heartbeat. Behind him, Gordon cocked his gun, ready to support if needed.

But before any of them made a further move a voice boomed out from beside the Domo. "It's _all right_ Father, I've got him."

It was a deep, gruff voice that Jeff didn't recognise as Scott's. In an instant three tranquiliser guns were trained on the two figures below, targets in the line of the crosshairs of the sights. Fingers held poised over the triggers, ready to release a dart containing a drug with enough power to knock out a grizzly bear.

Neither Jeff nor either of his sons had a clear shot of the Hood, but it was Scott they held in their sights.

"Scott?" Jeff called out tentatively, needing some reassurance his son was unharmed.

"I'm here! The Hood's not going anywhere."

There was the faintest muttering, before another shout was given, this time the sharp, tenor voice clearly recognisable as Scott's. "He's lying! Don't listen to him! It's a trick. We've already switc –"

"Silence!" The aggressive reply swatted away the rest of the sentence. But his captive wasn't listening.

"Dad it's me! You've got to believe me!"

"Don't let him fool you, Father."

"You'll never make it out of here – not with our secrets."

"I'm going to make sure _you_ don't leave here _alive_."

The captive audience of three watched on, the dares and threats bouncing back and forth like a tennis final. Their voices grew quieter in volume, but their words became hotter with anger as the battle raged on. Jeff could take no more.

"Silence!" In an instant the fighting ceased. Jeff was relieved, but wasn't fooled by the drama playing out before him. "Scott, I want you to turn around."

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"It's _all right_ Father, I've got him."

As soon as the words registered in Scott's brain a sudden fear gripped him hard. His eyes widened and pupils contracted with anxiety, and he knew just what the Hood had in mind.

The Hood was trying to fool his father into believing he was his real son. His father hadn't seen them switch.

A calm voice shouted out to them from above; Scott recognising it as his father's. "Scott?"

"I'm here! The Hood's not going anywhere." The Hood quickly replied, his smirk hidden from view by Scott's figure. Scott gritted his teeth, holding back the rage that was consuming him like hot flames.

"You're not going to get away with this," Scott spat, his fists clenched by his sides. He was seething; a dangerous sign.

"I already have," The Hood mouthed, confidence and smugness oozing from every pore.

Scott was fearful for his family's lives – fearful they would believe the Hood's words to be his own, and fearful such belief would push them right into the firing line of the Hood's gun. Scott knew there were five bullets remaining in the cartridge.

Scott needed to try and convince them of _his_ identity; his mental fingers were crossed that his father and brothers knew him as well as they claimed. "He's lying! Don't listen to him! It's a trick. We've already switc –"

"Silence!" Scott frowned, watching the Hood's eyes shimmer with an inner strength he had never witnessed in the man until now.

But Scott wasn't prepared to give up now. Not after all he had been through. "Dad it's me! You've got to believe me!"

"Don't let him fool you Father," the Hood shouted back, equally strong.

"You'll never make it out of here – not with our secrets."

"I'm going to make sure _you_ don't leave here _alive_."

The Hood's last sentence made Scott's hairs stand on end. The gun trembled ever so slightly from the adrenaline cursing through the Hood's veins, pushing Scott to take a small step backwards.

"Hold it right there, Tracy." It was restrained, but the intensity of the order made Scott stop dead in his tracks. "If you want them to live I suggest you remain where you are."

"Silence!" That one word was enough to cease all fighting. Scott was relieved, but hoped his father wasn't being fooled by the drama playing out before him. But he had no need for concern; the most welcome words sounded out like music to his ears. "Scott, I want you to turn around."

The spark in the Hood's eyes dulled for the briefest of moments, and Scott's lighted once more with confidence. His father hadn't fallen for the act. He shot his own smirk to the Hood. "Seems like your plan has failed. Now _that's _the power of family."

But the Hood didn't have a reply to hand. He knew his trick had failed, but that didn't mean he was ready to stand down. Now his eyes reignited with a spark of pure hatred. He took a step forward closer to Scott and clenched his teeth. "Do as your father says, Scott. _Turn around_." He raised the gun to Scott's head once again, and when Scott didn't do as commanded he reiterated. "Turn around. _Now_."

This time Scott did as ordered, no questions asked. He lifted his hands and interlocked them behind his head in a submissive act, careful to make slow, unthreatening movements. He took in his father's anxious look, and could only smile thinly in an attempt at some reassurance.

"It's over, Hood," Jeff called out, watching his son and wishing desperately that he could trade places. Scott could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to slice with a knife.

Jeff Tracy would willingly take a bullet for any of his sons without considering the consequences.

Now unable to see the Hood, Scott's nervousness began to increase in notches. He could still hear the heavy breathing, feel the waves of evil radiate from him. He tried to keep his anxious swallow subtle.

"You knew all along it was me, didn't you Tracy?"

Jeff cocked an eyebrow. "Of course I knew. I know my family better than I know myself, and I knew my son would never willingly place another person in front of him and use him as a shield to protect himself."

"Very smart, Jeff. Very smart."

"You can't escape from here. It's over, Hood," Alan barked, stamping his authority into the conversation to backup his father.

"But I hardly think so." The determination in the Hood's voice did nothing to reassure Scott that he was safe yet.

Unbeknownst to the three Tracys on the balcony above, the Hood was holding his weapon straight at the back of Scott's head, remaining wary that he wasn't too close so as to give Scott an opportunity to knock the gun from his grip. The Hood's right hand started to throb even more, only one of many reasons why he wanted this Tracy to pay.

"I have a gun pointing at the back of your son's head." To prove the point he pushed the hammer forward and then back again, an audible click echoing around the hangar. "So if you do not wish me to fire a bullet into his brain then I suggest you each place your weapons on the ground. _Now_."

The Hood watched the look of despair wash over Jeff's face, and inwardly smiled. He loved to watch the pained expressions on his prey; it gave him the warm feeling of satisfaction, and the comforting strength of power. It was a strong addiction.

He watched as the patriarch's shoulders slumped ever so slightly in resignation before choosing the safest option and, along with his two sons, knelt down and placed his gun on the floor.

"A wise move, gentlemen."

Prodding Scott's shoulder with the gun, he pushed his hostage forward, towards the direction of one of the Tracys' private aircraft opposite. "Step forward. Nice and slow, towards the plane over there." Scott didn't need to be told twice.

With a consciously placed small step, Scott kept his eyes to the ground and moved forward, avoiding the painful stares of his father and brothers.

The Hood moved along the side of the Domo, keeping his arm at head-level. His eyes bore into Scott's soul, watching every change in his body language reveal itself in every passing second.

With renewed energy the Hood's eyes had flickered into life; glowing hot ambers. As the Hood stepped from the shadows he snickered; his eyes stole a glance at Jeff. "Such shows of affection sicken me." He tutted in disgust. "Sharing such close bonds can provide you with the strength of a million men. But it can also prove to be your greatest weakness."

Belah Gaat had the gift of twisting anything he said. He knew Scott would never turn on his family, but it was entertaining to see how far he could warp the young man's mind. He allowed himself that small pleasure. "Have you never feared the day you would lose one of them? To feel such heart-wrenching pain, as though a part of your soul has been cut away?"

Scott's face betrayed nothing, but in his mind he was beginning to falter. He wanted nothing more than to punch the man; not only out of rage but from the guilt he was causing Scott, knowing every word he said was true.

Clearing the side of the Domo, stepping into the open, the Hood paused and chuckled with such bravado it made Scott shudder. "You realise the only reason you are so willing to give your life is to avoid such pain. After all, you would be dead. You wouldn't have to experience the grief of those you left behind. Your act would be courageous, but to me your choice would be of the coward's way."

His voice, a mere cold, calculated whisper, was set to taunt Scott in his nightmares for the next few nights, were he to live. His next words, however, dictated otherwise. "Think of the pain your family will feel in a few seconds. Then tell me this is what you _really_ want."

Scott stopped dead in his tracks, refusing to continue. The Hood didn't force him on though. He simply acknowledged, "I didn't think so."

A broad and cocky smile illuminated his face.

Belah Gaat was no fool. He knew he wasn't about to escape International Rescue's headquarters so easily, but he wasn't about to concede without some small victory.

Taking aim with the gun, he prepared for one of the most exhilarating points of his life.

In an instant he summoned control of his resolve.

And in the blink of an eye the trigger had been pulled.


	16. This Is Who I Really Am

**Chapter 15: This Is Who I Really Am**

Jeff watched on in despair as his son started to walk forward, hands clasped behind his head. Scott gave a small smile to his father, but Jeff knew deep down his son was only hiding his own fear. Scott shared his father's nerves of steel when it came to courage, but when it involved one of the family those nerves could easily melt under the heat of a protective need.

Suddenly Jeff felt the scales tip away from him, overbalanced in the Hood's favour. In the corner of his eye he could see the tranquiliser gun, just an arm length away from his grasp. It would take the better part of only a few seconds for him to pick up the weapon, aim and fire the dart into the Hood's arm.

But it would take less than one second for a bullet to exit the chamber of the gun held to Scott's head.

Slowly but surely the distinctive build of the Hood emerged from the sea of shadows, exposing his eyes that were now alight with a glow of ecstasy. Taunting words, no doubt, were whispered into Scott's ear; Jeff watched the various changes in his son's expression and could only guess what those words were. Firstly of anger, slowly melting into disgust, then morphing into an expression Jeff was unable to read. Was it guilt?

Jeff could sense the tension radiate from Gordon and Alan behind, each eager to do the same in grabbing their guns to take out the enemy. He waved his hand low behind his back, gesturing to his sons not to even think of taking the risk.

Three pairs of eyes were glued to the events happening below. Each of them knew the Hood was planning to escape, possibly even take Scott with him to ensure his own safety. Jeff had always emphasised that his sons' lives were more important than the security of International Rescue. Technology could be replaced, upgraded, rebuilt or repaired and ready for action, so long as the money was available.

No amount of money could return life to a cold, dead body.

Then Scott stopped still, and stubbornly refused to move on. He hoped Scott wasn't planning anything foolish.

Then, without warning, everything blurred into a haze before his eyes. A sudden shout of pain echoed around them, piercing through the silence that had gripped everyone. Numbing, heart-gripping fear took hold, throwing Jeff into shock as he screamed his son's name. "Scott!"

His worst nightmare had come true: his son had been shot. Or at least that was what he thought.

Scott threw himself forward, hitting the floor and covering his head with his hands.

Behind him the Hood grabbed his arm in agony, the gun clattering to the floor as it fell from his hand. At first Jeff was unsure of what had just happened. But then everything became clear as he watched the Hood wave unsteadily on his feet. Quick as a flash Jeff had retrieved his gun and trained it on the man in question.

The Hood's eyes lost their focus, followed by his balance as the drug took hold. An eight-inch dart had injected its contents into his body with pinpoint accuracy. His mind was losing the battle to hold onto consciousness, and eventually his grip slipped. His legs collapsed, giving way to the floor with an ungraceful thud. He was out cold within a matter of seconds.

There was a deathly silence, in which no one dared to breathe. Scott, the first to move, warily lifted his hands and twisted his head around to look at the fallen giant. With caution he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked over the unconscious form of his enemy. It wasn't until he saw the steady breathing that Scott felt a wave of relief wash over him. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, leaning his elbows on his knees for support.

"Scott!" Several concerned shouts of his name grabbed his attention, and he turned his head towards the stairs that led from the balcony above. Three eager pairs of feet were hurrying down the metal stairwell, no doubt setting a new speed record in their progress.

Alan was the first to reach his side, kneeling by his eldest brother and scanning him over to check he was uninjured. "Are you _all right_ Scott?"

Gordon skidded to a halt on his other side. Scott looked up and smiled at each familiar face in turn, very pleased to return to a normality he knew well. His voice was shaky with relief. "Just great! I'm so relieved to see you guys again."

Scott was watched by Alan and Gordon as he rose to his feet. Each was thrilled to see the other, and in no time at all hugs were being exchanged. Gordon threw his arms around Scott's neck in a rough bear hug, twisting him round like a merry-go-round. "Welcome back Scott!"

Scott couldn't hold back the heart-felt grin that split his face. He returned the hug with equal enthusiasm. "Glad to _be_ back, Gords."

Next up was Alan, whose hug was a little less violent but just as eager. "Hey, Scott."

"How're you doing, Al?" Big brother's arms surrounded Alan's smaller frame with a gentle touch, mirroring just how he used to when they were both younger. He rubbed the blonde's arm reassuringly, both for Alan's sake and his own, the physical touch to be sure that he wasn't dreaming.

Footsteps from behind attracted Gordon's attention as he looked over to his father. Jeff was relieved, watching the exchanges from a distance with a warm fuzz building in his heart. It came to his turn for his welcome; he covered the distance between himself and Scott and embraced his son with a tight squeeze. He rested his chin on Scott's shoulder, and whispered warm words of welcome. "Welcome home, Son."

"Thanks, Dad." He was grateful for the welcome, but his three simple words expressed much more than that. 'I'm grateful to see you again'; 'I'm grateful it's all over'; 'Thank you for believing in me'.

Pulling out of the embrace, each man took a brief minute to savour the moment, their eyes expressing the elated feelings they shared more than words could ever attempt to do.

Gordon's question broke them out of their happy reverie. "What happened?"

It was a question all four of them had considered. Jeff spoke for all of them when he said, "I don't know." Each of them looked around for an answer, as though it would pop out of thin air.

It was only then that Scott noticed the absence of his immediate younger brother. "Where's Virg?"

Jeff was about to answer the question when the familiar sounds of hydraulics hummed around them. Across from their position Thunderbird Two was descending, her telescopic legs lowering her huge body to the ground.

Scott led the group as they all made their way over to the carrier. The hatch underneath hissed open, and out stepped the sturdy frame of Virgil Tracy.

Scott couldn't withhold the smile that erupted on his face at the sight of his brother.

"Scott, are you all right?" The anxious expression on Virgil's face caused Scott to laugh. "What?"

Scott shook his head, his laugh giddy with relief, releasing his pent-up tension. He held his head low, but his bright eyes met bewildered brown ones. "I'm…" Scott wanted to find the most suitable word for how he felt, but had to give up. "I'm good. No, no, I'm more than that. I'm _ecstatic_!"

His happiness caught on, infecting the whole group at once. Virgil held out his arms to hug his brother. "Come here, you."

They patted each other on the back with such affection, Virgil feeling their 'connection' seep through him through the contact, just as strong as ever. "Welcome back, Scott. Welcome back."

"Missed you too, Virg," Scott whispered back, his warm tone soothing them both. The sound of his nickname being used again blanketed Virgil with a comfort he was glad to be feeling again.

A bleep from Jeff's comm. interrupted their thoughts, drawing their attention. "Jeff Tracy here."

"_M-Mr. Tracy, we've, ah, found Kyrano in the, ah, monorail. He's regained c-consciousness just now. We've t-t-treated his injuries. He'll be f-fine after some r-rest."_

"Thank you Brains. That's very good news to hear."

"_How are things p-progressing with the H-Hood, Mr. T-Tracy?"_

Five knowing glances passed from each to the others. All stole a look over to the peaceful figure sprawled on the floor. "I think we can safely say he's taking a nap. He's been darted, so he won't be waking up any time soon." Jeff answered.

"We'd better tie him up though, just in case," Scott added with a note of caution.

"_S-S-Scott, is th-that you?"_

Scott lifted his wrist to activate his comm., only to find it missing. "My comm! Where is it?"

"Oh, er, Hood over there took it off and left it on the platform before heading to the hangar," Alan answered, hooking his thumb over to where the Hood lay. John's earlier words returned to Scott, back when he was on the plane.

Jeff held his arm out to Scott so he could speak to Brains. "Yeah it's me Brains. Long time no see."

"_It c-certainly is good to see you a-a-again, Scott."_

Scott smiled warmly to the scientist, looking to each of his brothers in turn and his father. Glancing over at Virgil, he noticed the cuts on his brother's face for the first time and frowned. "Virg, you're cut." He stepped over to examine the wounds.

"It's nothing, really. Just a few scrapes."

"Still, they need seeing to in case they become infected. What happened?"

Virgil tried to brush the concern away but Gordon butted in. "It's what happens when you're thrown through a glass window." Scott's eyebrows shot up in alarm. He wasn't given a chance to respond before his father cut in.

"I thought I told you to stay where you were?"

Virgil shrugged his shoulders, in a 'you did' gesture. "I thought I was more use down here. I couldn't let you guys have all the fun, could I?"

Scott snorted a laugh, and reached over to ruffle his brother's chestnut locks.

Gordon tilted his head in curiosity. "You came down via the chute?"

"Yeah," Virgil answered. "I ran up to the lounge after you left. I used the chute to get down here, then I grabbed one of the tranquiliser guns we keep stored in Thunderbird Two's locker." He glanced up at Thunderbird Two's nose. "I fired from the missile hatch, after opening it manually so as not to create a noise when the mechanism activated." Shaking his arms to loosen the muscles, he added, "That thing's heavy to open manually."

Jeff couldn't describe the relief for such forethought in the design process of the ship. It had been Brains' idea to allow the missile hatch to be operated manually as well as via the controls in the cockpit. "I'm glad you _could_ open it manually," he told his musical son. "That was only added because the hatch acts as an emergency exit."

Still feeling the adrenaline pumping through his arms, Virgil was relieved the whole incident was all over. Looking through the sight of the gun, towards where the Hood and Scott had been standing, Virgil had felt the panic constrict his throat. He had zoomed in on the hand holding the gun, seeing the finger increase the pressure on the trigger, ready to fire. In an instant he knew that wasn't the Scott he'd shared his life with. His Scott would never be prepared to shoot another person at close range. _In cold blood_…

Virgil's methodical approach to problem-solving flew decisively out of the window. In an instant he summoned control of his resolve – he quickly took aim at the figure of the Hood, and fired.

In the blink of an eye Virgil had pulled the trigger.

A soft moan diverted the group's attention over to more important matters. They all walked over to the body, each standing at the point of an invisible pentagram as they looked down at their captive.

"What do we do about him? He's going to wake up sometime." Alan looked to his siblings and father for suggestions, rubbing the back of his neck in thought.

"We could always keep him hostage here on Tracy Island. Not like anyone would miss him if he suddenly disappeared without a trace."

"Gordon, be serious," Jeff lightly admonished, though silently admitting to himself it would solve many of their problems.

"And that's not the only problem we've got," Scott interjected. When he received the frowns he'd expected he elaborated. "I, er… I kind of 'borrowed' a plane to get here. It's sat out on the runway. We need to return that as well."

The reactions he got in reply were an amusing mixture. His father didn't seem very happy to learn of such, but understood why his son had done what he had. Alan and Gordon both were hiding smiles of amusement. It was rare for Scott to be in trouble at all, but when he did they were in for a good laugh. For once it wasn't either of them in trouble. Virgil, on the other hand, kept a keen look on their father's expression, as though it didn't trouble him in the slightest. In a way he was backing Scott's actions, knowing he would have done exactly the same if in Scott's position.

"We'll deal with that later." Jeff's decision was final, though he shot a look over at Scott to tell him they would have a discussion later. "We need a plan of action for what we're going to do with the Hood here."

Placing his hands in his pockets, Scott's right hand felt the touch of a smooth surface. Curious as to what the object was, he took hold of it and pulled it free.

It was his digital camera.

Curiously he switched the device on and began to search through the images. Meanwhile, Jeff continued his previous line of thought. "The problem is, we can't be sure just how much the Hood has learned about our organisation. We have to assume a Level Red security breach."

The images that appeared made Scott's eyes widen in alarm. "I think you can say that again, Father." Scott turned the camera around so that the rest of them could see the screen. "He's taken pictures of all the Thunderbird craft, not to mention some of the other equipment and blueprints for possible future designs."

"Oh my God," Gordon spoke for everyone. "He could have destroyed us. Our identities, the location of our base… He knew _everything_."

"It's a frightening thought," Virgil mused.

"I still think we should tie him up and feed him to Alan's alligator." Gordon snickered, rubbing his hands together.

Scott frowned. "As much as the idea is tempting, no, Gordon, we can't."

"You want to give her indigestion?" Alan shot back playfully.

The group fell into a thoughtful silence, minds running at full gear to think of a suggestion.

"If only there was some way we could make him forget," Scott mused aloud. "Somehow erase any information that could connect us to the organisation."

A sudden flash of inspiration hit Virgil like a bolt of lightning. "NEMO."

"What?"

"NEMO. That's the answer," he spoke again, answering Alan's whispered question.

"NEMO?"

Virgil didn't answer the question or the curious looks. He lifted his wrist comm. and called for Brains.

"_Yes V-Virgil?"_

"Brains, I think it's time we tested out that new invention of yours. See how NEMO works out in the field."

"_O-O-Of course. You mean, uh, use it on the, ah, the H-H-Hood? Why n-not."_

"Excellent! Meet us in the sick bay. We'll bring him up there right away."

Brains smiled with confidence. _"F.A.B. S-See you in, uh, a few m-minutes."_

Gordon nudged Alan in the ribs, whispering, "NEMO? How's a fish going to help?" A soft snort gave him his answer.

Jeff clapped his hands together to summon his sons into action. "Come on then, boys. The sooner we get the Hood moved up to the sick bay the sooner we can resolve this crisis."

Each of them obeyed, each taking hold of the figure in question. A curious thought occurred to Scott as he watched his brothers prepare to lift the Hood. "Virg? How did you know it was me? I mean, you couldn't have heard any of the exchange between the Hood and Dad from where you were. You couldn't have known we'd switched back."

The hero of the moment smiled in reply. "Scott, you're my brother. Need I say more?" With that Scott grinned, along with Gordon and Alan who each wore their own mischievous grins.

Scott took hold of one of the Hood's legs alongside Virgil, while Gordon and Alan took an arm each and Jeff took the weight of his torso. "Besides," Virgil supplemented, "you're right-handed."

Scott paused for a moment, allowing the statement to sink in. "So?"

"So, the Hood was holding the gun with his _left_ hand."

"I know he was. What's your point?" Scott wasn't seeing where this was going.

"The Hood's left handed. It must be an innate thing, hand dominance." At this point a switch flicked on in Scott's head.

"Well, I hate to tell you this Virg, but the Hood is actually _right_ handed."

"Right handed?"

"Yeah. I sort of had a little 'accident' in Canada. I slipped down a hillside and broke my – the _Hood's_ – hand. He couldn't use his right hand to hold the gun – a fact he painfully discovered when he tried to use it after switching back."

Gordon couldn't help sniggering, watching as Virgil blushed at the news. "It's a good job that wasn't the _only_ reason you shot the Hood rather than Scott."

At this Alan joined in, feeling the release of any stress or worry they still held. Scott tried to hold back his own snigger but wasn't succeeding.

"You're lucky we couldn't see which hand he was using, Scott, or else we could have made the same mistake." Their father shared, happy that the result hadn't been one of the many worse alternatives.

"Yeah, and we were lucky he didn't see Virgil, else I might not have been here. Just remember that." Scott defended his brother's actions, grateful for the opportunity to do so.

The Hood was heavy, his weight attributed to his stocky build. But with five of them he was no weight at all, and in no time they were in the monorail on their way to the sick bay to meet Brains.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Brains was prepared and waiting by the time the Tracys arrived with the Hood in tow. Tin-Tin was sat on the edge of the bed occupied by her father, who had been taken for treatment for a possible concussion. He held his daughter's hand close to his heart, fearful of the figure that had just been brought in. His head still ached, but he was fortunate the injury hadn't been worse. Brains and Tin-Tin had taken good care of him.

Jeff glanced over to his good friend, whose bright sunstone eyes sparkled with an inner strength Jeff rarely saw in people. If Kyrano believed they could overcome anything, then someone was certainly watching over them.

With a heave they lifted the Hood's bulk onto one of the beds on the far side of the room, giving Kyrano plenty of breathing space. Jeff's concern though lay elsewhere, as he made his way over to where Kyrano rested.

"How are you feeling Kyrano?"

Kyrano was very happy to see his long-time friend. "I am well, Mr. Tracy. I have only a small headache, but I rest easy." He raised his injured arm partly to illustrate the bandage that now covered the wound.

"I'm very glad to hear it." He patted Kyrano's hand. Tin-Tin squeezed her father's shoulder, also happy to see her father in good health.

"What happened, Mr. Tracy? How on earth did you stop the Hood?" Tin-Tin asked, wary of the presence of said person across from them.

"Virgil shot him with a dart after something of a confrontation." He noted his explanation was perhaps a little understated, but there was plenty of time to explain fully what happened once this was all over.

Kyrano turned his head to one side to watch the ongoing operation between the resident scientist and the four brothers. They all watched on as Brains applied what Kyrano thought to be two small pads to each of the Hood's temples; the pads connected to wires, in turn connected to a small handheld computer. Studying each man in turn, Kyrano noticed how Virgil and Brains were the only two who looked like they knew what was going on. Scott, Gordon and Alan watched on in intrigue.

Brains tapped in a sequence of commands into the tiny keypad, then waited as the computer set to work.

"What _is_ Brains up to?" Jeff wondered aloud, the question shared by all. No one answered, but Jeff respected that Brains was busy with his work.

Brains was a methodical worker, taking time to plough through every tiny scrap of data that came to thought. Tiny beads of sweat were beginning to form along the edge of his brow. Looking to the spectators around him, he informed them, "This, ah… This may, ah, t-take some time to c-c-complete I'm afraid. I, uh, want to be sure I-I-I erase every piece o-of information I can about International, uh, R-Rescue."

Brains was careful to try and include every possible piece of information that could relate any of the island's residents to International Rescue; every extraneous variable that could compromise their secret operations, alerting the outside world to them and their location. He had to be thorough – his family was relying on him.

By this time Jeff was standing behind his sons, his arms crossed as he watched the island's genius. His steady, mellow baritone answered, "Don't worry, Brains. Take as much time as you need."

They continued to watch on as the scientist performed his wonder of skill.

"In the meantime," Jeff turned to address his sons, "we have preparations to make. I want to see you four in my study right now."

Four pairs of eyes turned to acknowledge his request, each of varying shades and ages, and each holding different memories to events they had witnessed. They each told their own adventures, seeing the world through different tinted lenses. No doubt, though, they each shared the same sparkle Jeff recognised as that he had seen through his Lucille's chestnut eyes.

Shaking himself from his brief reverie he turned to head for the door. Turning his eyes skyward, he sent a silent message of thanks to his angel above, knowing she would be watching and listening.

It wasn't her time to be reunited with their sons just yet.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Thirty five minutes later saw the launch of Thunderbird One, followed by her supersonic sister ship Thunderbird Two. Jeff watched as the two craft flew side by side across the expanse of ocean, separating the island from the rest of the world, fading into specs on the horizon.

Inside Thunderbird Two the two youngest brothers were silent in contemplation. None of them would deny they would feel much more relaxed once they had dropped off their cargo, currently tied up in the pod alongside the small Extra plane.

Gordon looked to the radar on his control panel, noting Thunderbird One's position, a warm sense of security washing over him having his brother close by for support.

Some of the warmth seeped into his voice as he established contact with the smaller ship. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One, are you receiving?"

He didn't have to wait long for the reassuring reply. _"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two, receiving you loud and clear, Gordon. Is everything okay?"_

Gordon smiled. It was Scott who would be hearing similar questions for the next couple of days, that was for sure. "So far, so good. Hood's still unconscious, and securely tied up. Doesn't make me feel any less creeped out though."

"_Don't worry, Gords. I've got your back if anything should go wrong, which it won't."_

Alan couldn't hide the smile that crept to his lips; his brother's over-cautiousness as prominent as ever. "Don't worry, if he so much as wakes up Gordon can torture him with his jokes."

There was a soft chuckle through the speakers. _ "That's torture to anyone's ears."_

The joker in question didn't tear his eyes from the skies as he piped up his own defence. "Hey! My jokes are world class. You're very privileged to hear them; people would pay a fortune to listen."

"Yeah, and they're locked up safe and sound in their padded cells, Gords," Alan countered, his own cheeky grin beaming.

"_Thunderbird One and Two from Base, how's things going, guys?"_ Virgil's baritone waved over the speakers, a touch of disappointment seeping in that he wasn't there to share his brothers' banter in person. Erring on the side of caution Virgil had been grounded, in case he had suffered a mild concussion when he had been knocked out earlier. It didn't make handing the reins of his 'bird over to his two youngest siblings any easier.

"Everything's a-ok, Virg. He's still sleeping," Alan replied.

"Want me to sing a lullaby to him?" Gordon asked innocently.

"_NO!_" Two simultaneous cries perforated the air from the speaker.

"You do, Gords, and I'll personally drop you out of Thunderbird Two." Alan gave a warning look, a hand floating above the release mechanism for the hatch near to where they sat. Gordon laughed it off.

A wary look was all Alan spared. "We nearly there yet?"

Gordon checked his instruments. "ETA is just under fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes, and we're all safe. Hey, Scott? How do we know if Brains managed to erase everything? I mean, what if there's something he forgot, and the Hood starts talking about us?"

There was a defined clearing of his throat before Scott answered. "_We can only hope he _doesn't_ remember anything. But this is Brains we're talking about. We should have a little more faith in his inventions._" Scott emitted a hefty sigh; the events of the last two days were beginning to take their toll on him.

Gordon and Alan shared a worried look. They could only hope the Hood would be locked up behind bars for a long time to come.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Special Agent in Charge Carl Shanks had had a funny day. It was turning out to be one of the most memorable days of his career so far. He thought he'd heard everything.

That was, until about three-quarters of an hour ago.

A secure call had been received from International Rescue, informing him of a prisoner they were escorting to their field office. The story had gone that the man had landed his plane on Tracy Island and had threatened the inhabitants, holding them to hostage. An emergency call had been sent to International Rescue via a mobile phone, and the organisation had dispatched their ships. The Hood had eventually been darted and secured, and was now being transported via Thunderbird One.

Yes, S.A.C. Shanks had definitely had a strange day.

Pressing the 'call' button on his vidphone, he pressed the speed-dial number to connect him to one of his agents. Two rings in, and the call was answered. _"Willis speaking."_

"Agent Willis, has there been any sign of the Thunderbirds?" His question held an agitated tone.

"_No, Sir, not as yet."_

Shanks ran a rough hand over his face. He had been waiting almost an hour. "Inform me when they do get here, agent."

"_One moment Sir... Agent Corry says they've just arrived."_

Sure enough, when Shanks peered out of his office window his eyes were greeted by the outline of the broad green carrier ship. Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets fired, ready to absorb the impact of the landing. With steady guidance the ship hardly jolted as she set down, ready to hand over her dangerous cargo.

Outside the field office entrance, a small group of agents watched in awe as the ship landed. The street had been cordoned off, preventing access for traffic and pedestrians; not only for the public's protection but also for International Rescue's security, at their insistence. There was only a few metre's clearance on either side of Thunderbird Two's wings, but her onboard proximity sensors and Gordon's expert piloting meant it wasn't a problem.

Beside him, on his desk, the vidphone began to ring. "Shanks."

"_Special Agent in Charge Shanks? This is International Rescue, Thunderbird One, speaking."_

"Welcome, International Rescue. We were beginning to wonder where you guys were."

"_Apologies for the time, but we've had to take extra security precautions concerning our detainee."_ There was the smallest trace of irritation in the pilot's voice.

Shanks was alert and prepared, taking charge of the situation at his end. "My agents are outside standing by, ready to come aboard and take the detainee into custody."

Straight away there was an objection shot from the communicator. _"I'm sorry Sir, but we cannot allow that. Security for our organisation is of the utmost importance."_ There was a soft sigh, before he continued. _"We will unload him from the ship and hand him over to your agents outside. I'm afraid you'll have to carry him, as he's still drugged."_

"Okay, International Rescue, as you wish." Shanks sighed, unhappy with the choice but having no other alternative. He stabbed the button to end the call, moving to resume the call between him and Agent Willis. "Agent Willis, International Rescue will be unloading their passenger and handing over to you. Ensure he's taken care of."

"_Will do, Sir."_ Willis only just ended his sentence before Shanks cut him off abruptly.

Shanks hated to have his authority undermined. He especially hated being dictated to. Who on earth did this International Rescue guy think he was?

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Scott hated to have his authority under question, or his judgement undermined. His conversation with S.A.C. Shanks hadn't gone too well, his irritation with the man increasing with every word that left the man's lips. Alan had noticed Scott grind his teeth and had smirked.

Alan knew Scott hated being knocked off his pedestal when it came to leadership. There was only ever one man who ranked above his oldest brother, and that was their father, being the only man who could shake Scott to the core, and force his oldest brother to step down without question.

Alan could still feel the heat seep from Scott. He was risking his neck, but he couldn't resist a little teasing. "I take it Shanks is your new best friend, Scott?"

Scott shook his head, bypassing the humour in Alan's question. "I swear that man is one of the most irritating people I've had the misfortune to talk to." Turning to Alan, his anger beginning to dissipate, he changed the conversation. "Al, you and Gordon need to carry the Hood out of the pod – _then_ give him the antidote to help bring him round." He raised his eyebrows, a silent gesture that the last part was necessary, no matter how much they disliked the idea.

"Yes, Sir." Gordon saluted, before flicking the needle of the syringe to release any trapped air. Scott rolled his eyes.

Letting his brothers continue their work, Scott headed back over to his 'bird to resume contact with Tracy Island. "Base from Thunderbird One, come in."

"_Base here."_

Virgil had kept close attention to the communications between Scott and Shanks, and could appreciate his brother's annoyance, hoping his brother wouldn't do anything stupid.

"We're about to drop off our cargo and hand him over to the authorities. Then Gordon and Alan will head over to Canada to return the private plane. We'll be a while yet, so you might as well get some rest."

Scott could practically hear the words of reluctance before they had even left Virgil's lips. _"I'll wait, Scott. I want to be sure everything runs smoothly."_

Scott turned towards the hatch at the commotion between his brothers and the agents outside. "It can't be running any smoother. The feds know what they're doing."

"_I know, Scott. Just... be careful. That man is dangerous, and given half a chance he would kill you in a heartbeat."_

Scott took a deep breath. He understood Virgil's concerns, but now was not the time to focus on them. "Don't worry, he's still yet to come round. Besides, we've got a small army outside waiting for him. He's a _very_ popular person of interest." Commotion from outside drew his attention briefly, before a big thumbs up from Gordon confirmed all was well. "Looks like we're nearly done here. Talk to you soon."

"_F.A.B. Thunderbird One. Let me know when you're on your way."_

"Will do, Virg."

"_I mean it, Scott. I'm giving you five minutes tops, then I'm flying out there myself."_

Scott snorted, knowing his brother was deadly serious. Sometimes he could be a little too cautious. "I _promise_ I'll radio ahead. Scout's honour."

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"F.A.B." Virgil replied, reluctance coating his words, most of his confidence evaporated.

What Scott hadn't realised was that Virgil had heard his brother promise several times over the course of the past couple of days. It had turned out to be the promise of a villain – words as empty and meaningless as the man who was now being escorted from Thunderbird Two.

Those very thoughts were hovering around in Virgil's mind, plaguing him. Conversations returning to him that he would sooner forget, feelings resurfacing that he would rather bury, along with the rest of the memories.

"_You'd be the first to know if anything was wrong – I _promise_."_

"_I'm sure, I _promise_ you. Besides, I'm looking forward to going up to see… er, Alan… again."_

_It was the Hood who promised, not Scott,_ Virgil was determined to remember; to keep in mind every time he saw his brother's face. _It wasn't him…_

"_Virgil? Virgil, are you reading me?"_

Virgil shook himself from his thoughts. "Er, yeah Scott. Speak to you soon."

"_I know you hate the thought of leaving your 'bird under the charge of the Terrible Two, but I'm sure they'll look after her."_

The smile on Two's pilot was gentle. Scott could appreciate how attached to their machines they were. "You wouldn't be that enthusiastic if it was One they were flying to Canada."

"_And the day that happens is the day pigs fly. I'll see you back at Base."_

Virgil wondered if Scott truly knew what was on his mind. He knew the musician loved the craft just as he loved Thunderbird One, but how much had he used that excuse to avoid pointing out the real reason?

Virgil had a feeling Scott knew he was just being protective, but wasn't about to openly voice it, which Virgil was thankful for much more than Scott would ever realise.

Of course they would talk about things sooner than later. Now was just not the most appropriate of times.

Grabbing his coffee cup, the pilot headed for the kitchen for another kick of beverage. His ship would be left to the mercy of his youngest brothers – the prankster and his sidekick.

No wonder he was worried.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Oh yes, dear brother of mine." Gordon's smile beamed. "Us two in Thunderbird Two, all alone."

"No wonder Virgil nearly had a heart attack when Dad made the suggestion. Did you see the look on his face? You'd think he didn't trust us." Alan made a mock face of shock, though his brother couldn't see it.

"Yeah but just think – the _Hood_ was in your Thunderbird."

Gordon didn't need to turn around to see Alan's face fall at that stated fact.

Clearing his suddenly tight throat, Alan tried to push that particular fact aside. "Yeah, well… He was on Thunderbird Five as well... _with me!_" The realisation was a slap in the face.

"Scary thought, huh?"

"All that time, with John and me. Woah!"

Without taking his eyes from the skyline ahead, Gordon started, "So if the Hood was up in Thunderbird Five…"

"…that means it was Scott who called us from Canada." Alan swallowed at the thought.

"You're in for it when we get home."

"You would've done the same! I mean, wouldn't you have thought it was strange if you were stood next to your big brother, while some crazy madman on the other end of a radio claimed to be that very same brother?"

"Crazy? Please don't tell me you called Scott a 'crazy madman'!" Gordon was, admittedly, using this to wind up his brother. Alan was doing most of the work on his own – he was just prodding him in the right direction.

"I _might_ have…"

"Oh, _Alan_, you're _definitely_ never going to live _that_ down." Gordon was biting his lip to stop an outburst of laughter. He didn't need to look at Alan's face to know he had flushed cheeks. Alan had no comeback – just a wish that the ground would swallow him whole.

Gordon couldn't hold it in, and promptly started to snigger at Alan's predicament. "I'm sorry Al, but you're on your own when we get home. It's been nice knowing you." Alan threw him a cold glare. "I'll be sure to bury you on the cliff side, near the Round House."

A sudden thought occurred to Gordon, prompted by their conversation. "Oh, speaking of Scott…" He pushed a hand into his pocket, and pulled free a crumpled piece of paper. Alan glanced at it suspiciously. "He asked me to leave this note in the cockpit, for the owner."

"What does it say?" Alan took the note and uncurled the edges. In Scott's bold, broad writing were a few simple words.

Gordon shrugged his shoulders. "A little I-O-U I suppose, for taking the plane in the first place. So Mr. Perfect has turned into a part-time thief, eh?"

"He already is. Don't forget the countless desserts that have gone walking during the night." Alan raised an eyebrow. Scott was notorious for sneaking off with some of Grandma's cooking under cover of darkness. In fact the only reason he had been caught last time was because the emergency claxon had gone off. The evidence had been hard to explain – how half an apple pie had ended up thrown over the balcony into the pool.

Gordon chuckled as the images ran through his mind. "Don't worry, I haven't."

With a sigh the copper-haired Tracy leaned back in his seat. They were both relieved that things were back to some sort of normality. "At least things haven't ended disastrously," Alan piped up. "The Hood could have taken off in a Thunderbird and caused untold damage. We'd better check over the ships for any booby traps or damage."

Alan didn't see the change in Gordon's expression. His face had just lit up with the spark of an idea. He straightened his posture, the birth of a plan sweeping through his mind. He snorted back a laugh that threatened to escape.

Alan, ever tuned to his brother's body language, caught the swift change and became alert in an instant. "Gords?" He stood and peered over his brother's shoulder, noting the wide grin plastered all over the joker's face. "What are you thinking?"

It was a grin that only appeared when the prankster was present.

Shifting his honey eyes to Alan's, he winked. "Nothing much. Just planning a 'welcome home' present for Scott."

Alan leaned in closer, eager to hear what had invaded Gordon's mind this time. "Go on then, spill."

"But you're already in trouble with Scott."

"I don't care! A prank's a prank. And it's even better when it's on Scott." Alan leant forward on his hands, his arms stretched out in front on the control panel.

Gordon shrugged, teasing and baiting his partner-in-crime even more like a cat with a mouse. "Okay, if you're sure. It's your neck on the line, Kiddo."


	17. Sacrifices For Love

**Chapter 16: Sacrifices For Love**

The fire crackled and rumbled, oxygen sucked in from the surrounding atmosphere, stifling the air with thick smoke. Red, mesmerising hands of flames snaked upwards, reaching out to touch those close by with their heat. Ash fell from the sky like snowflakes, covering the surrounding sand.

Alan threw another shard of wood onto the fire and watched as it hungrily snatched it in its grasp, burning it to charcoal.

"So come on then, Scott. Tell us what happened after you escaped from the cabin." All attention was focused on the eldest as Alan voiced the question for them all. He sat by Tin-Tin's side on the sands of Tracy Island, while she was perched on a small rock as elegantly as a lady could. Gordon sat cross-legged next in line, with Virgil then Scott taking up positions on the opposite side. Tin-Tin felt like a queen, sat in the middle of four very attractive young men.

The eldest cleared his throat, as he watched the dancing flames before him. The fire was bringing back memories of his 'adventure' in the white wilderness called Canada, and the lonely night he spent in the cave, unsure as to whether he would ever get to experience a night like this with his family again. "I headed for the surrounding forest, hoping to find cover before the other guard came looking for me. All the time I was trying to find a way to contact you guys to warn you about the Hood. That's when I tried the radio."

"You tried to contact Thunderbird Five?" Gordon clarified, having a sneaky suspicion this was the incident Alan had mentioned earlier in Thunderbird Two.

"You could say that." Scott gave his baby brother the evil eye. Alan shied away, his cheeks beginning to flush.

A sheepish grin adorned his features, and he felt forced to try and excuse his choice of actions. "I didn't know it was you, Scott! You had this deep, menacing voice, and you were rambling on about how your body had been switched and… and…" He was running out of excuses, and his brothers knew it.

"You called your own brother crazy – admit it!" Gordon pointed at the blonde, not being able to resist digging his brother's hole of trouble even deeper for him.

"'Crazy?' He didn't…" Scott began to state, but then realised just what Gordon was referring to. "Oh no, he didn't call me 'crazy' – at least, not the first time I tried to contact him." A sly grin – playful, but shrewd – erupted onto Scott's face. Four pairs of eyes looked into his for elaboration. "He told me to go and see a psychiatrist at one point, but he didn't call me 'crazy'."

Scott folded his arms. _Got you, Alan_.

"I didn't know who you were!" Alan whined, a sure sign he was fighting a losing battle and getting his ass kicked. Gordon was amazed to watch the shade of his cheeks deepen, but felt some sympathy for him as the young man looked down in shame.

Alan never took the butt of a joke well, so to lessen the feeling of embarrassment Gordon would wrap his arm around Alan's neck in a headlock and ruffle his hair. Nine times out of ten it worked.

Once again he ruffled Alan's golden locks, and the sulky expression soon turned to a smile. Under the glowing silver moon of the night sky, the brothers laughed their troubles away.

"How old are those two again?" Scott turned to Virgil and asked, bemused by the play between the youngest two. Virgil chuckled, watching as Alan pinned the redhead to the sand to try and reach his hair.

"Hey, leave the hair!"

"No way, Gordilocks – this time you get some of your own medicine!"

Tin-Tin giggled, keeping herself out of the play-fight. She turned her eyes to Virgil and Scott, then up to the Villa overlooking their little party. From the balcony watched her father, along with the boys' father and grandmother, all happily watching over them. She noticed a tray in Ruth Tracy's hands, with several mugs of hot drinks for the beach party.

"I'll go and fetch the drinks." Tin-Tin hopped up from her seat, the giddy taint still in her voice. Scott turned to take a look for himself. He quickly stood to offer to go himself.

"It's all right, Tin-Tin, I'll go." Before she could even object the eldest had strode over to the steps leading to the balcony.

Three sets of smiles greeted him; three pairs of eyes filled with memories of similar happy times from their own youth. It was a pastime the Tracy brothers hardly ever participated in during their days of adulthood, but it was something they still enjoyed to do. It was something they had brought with them from Kansas, when Scott would build a small campfire in the backyard and they would all sit around and talk. Sometimes they would tell stories – often masterful works of fiction, at least to the ears of teenagers – or listen to any interesting gossip that was floating around school. Sometimes they would play a game or two – a particular favourite being 'guess the quote', where they would give quotes from movies and each would have to guess which one it was from.

Scott greeted the elders with a warm smile. Taking the tray from his grandmother's hand, he thanked her. "Thanks Grandma. These smell good!"

Another favourite treat of theirs – hot chocolate. And with a roaring fire, there was nothing else in the world quite like it.

Jeff looked at his son with a cautious gaze, looking beneath the exterior to try and understand his son's faint glint of worry. "Son? Is anything worrying you?"

He expected Scott to refuse to talk, and so wasn't surprised to see him shake his head. "No Father, I'm fine."

"Really? You look troubled. What's on your mind?"

Scott again refused to take the bait, especially with his grandmother present. He was of the mind that most problems he could deal with on his own. He also didn't like to worry his grandmother.

But he hadn't given her the full credit she deserved, as she took note of Jeff's verbal prod to get Scott to open up and stepped back into the lounge. Kyrano took her lead and followed closely behind, leaving both father and son in the privacy they needed.

Scott wasn't as easy to convince, turning to take the hot drinks down to the beach. Jeff had learned to be sneaky where his sons were concerned, and quickly snatched one of the steaming mugs. His son was momentarily taken aback.

"You can come back for your mug."

Scott knew it was his father's way of forcing him back to talk. He sighed in small defeat. Maybe he was to blame for the prankster trait.

Taking care not to spill the hot liquid, the eldest son returned back to the small gathering on the shore. He handed out the mugs, noticing the frown on Virgil's face when there was one drink missing. Scott nodded his head towards the balcony. "I'll be back in a minute."

He was hoping the meeting with his father wasn't going to last much longer than was necessary.

On the return leg he took the steps two at a time, the tray by his side. His father waited, holding out Scott's mug for him to take. Both leant against the balcony railing, mirror poses, as they looked on over the beach. His brothers were laughing, Gordon almost certainly being the entertainment act for the night, as usual.

Jeff smiled, content in knowing his family was mostly happy. Without turning to face his eldest, he acknowledged the scene playing out below them. "I'm relieved to see things turned out for the better. We were fortunate today."

"Yeah, you can say that again, Dad. The Hood came very close to exposing us to the world."

Jeff gave a small grunt in reply. The soft rumble of the incoming tides could be heard within the pause of the conversation, as though waiting for someone to start talking. It was clear Scott wasn't about to open up easily.

Scott watched his brothers as they talked. It was this that he had travelled over six thousand miles to protect, to keep safe from the Hood's interference. This very scene, along with many others like them, was the very thing he had risked everything to safeguard. It meant the very world to him.

"Son, your mind is the very thing that makes you who you are. The only time you're ever this quiet is when you are holding back something. What is it you don't want your brothers to know?"

Scott knew his father wasn't going to relent any time soon. Normally his confidante was Virgil, his immediate younger brother and trusted holder of many of his secrets. Secrets that Scott couldn't carry alone.

Staring into the mug, watching the swirling liquid as though it might provide him with an excuse to avoid this conversation, Scott sighed. "I've just been thinking about recent events – trying to make sense of things."

"And is everything sorted?"

Scott shrugged. "More or less."

There was a comfortable silence – one that each could tolerate – as they collected their thoughts. Jeff gave his son time to consider his worries, and was prepared to wait as long as it took.

"Dad, do you think I'm selfish?"

The question knocked Jeff for six, making him turn his head and stare in surprise. Scott never looked up, sensing his father stand up straight with concern.

Jeff wasn't sure how to answer. His immediate reply was to dispute the claim, but it wasn't that that had shocked him. It was why his boy had felt compelled to ask such a question.

Leaning with his elbow against the balcony, Jeff leant closer to his son as though his words were of high secrecy, forbidden to outsiders. "Selfish? What do you mean?"

Not removing his eyes from his brothers below, the field commander took control, despite the fact he wasn't on rescue and that he was talking to his father – his role model in many ways. "Do you think I put my own thoughts above those of the others?"

Jeff was perplexed, but wasn't willing to be dragged down any unnecessary routes. "Scott, you're one of the most _un_selfish people I know. What makes you ask such a question?"

Scott knew Jeff Tracy had a reputation in the household for being subtle, but this was not one of his better attempts. Truth was, he wasn't sure what was racing around Scott's mind at the time. Not even his body language was about to give anything away.

Scott ploughed on. "But am I being selfish in thinking I'm doing the right thing when I'm looking out for them?" Scott waved a hand in the direction of his kin below. "By giving everything up for them I'm actually hurting them more?"

This wasn't Scott's usual constructive thinking. He wasn't known for being philosophical, or even for looking into things at such a deep and complex level. To Scott Tracy the sun rose in the east and set in the west. How it rose didn't concern him.

Jeff cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. "Has this got something to do with the Hood? Something he said?" He already knew the answer, but he still wanted it confirmed. Only the Hood could place such disturbing thoughts into Scott's mind.

"I mean, I don't suffer the grief they do, or you, Dad. But yet I end up causing it all." His words stumbled out in long lines, drawn out. Thoughts tumbling out as though his father wasn't even there.

"Son," Jeff sighed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Just rewind this conversation back and run it through your mind again. You want to know if I think it's selfish of you to want to risk your life for your brothers?" He hoped by rephrasing Scott's words he could place them into a clearer and more deserved context.

"Scott… Take a look around." He held a hand out, gesturing to the island as a whole. "All of this we can afford because we have the money available to us. Yet it has absolutely no value where the value of life is concerned."

He leant forward onto his forearms, sure he had his son's complete attention through those blue fiery eyes. "Life is the most precious thing we all possess, and to be willing to give it away for the life of another… Well, to me that is the most _unselfish_ act there can be.

"Just ask any of your brothers their opinion and they would have no second thoughts about laying down their lives, just as you wouldn't. And, speaking especially as a father, neither would I."

Studying his eldest's features, Jeff was sure he saw the spark of understanding in his eyes. He knew, deep down in his very soul, the words Scott had spoken held no truth whatsoever. Instead they had been words Scott had used to try and decipher the reasons why the Hood would say such hateful things, and why he despised them.

"Why do you think the Hood planted such thoughts?" Jeff threw out to him.

For a long pause Scott contemplated the question. The simple answer was always going to be for monetary gain against International Rescue, but something in his father's voice and choice of words told him it wasn't so superficial.

Scott stood up tall, taking in a deep breath of warm, tropical air. He looked into the loving eyes of his father and shrugged. "He wanted to see how weak I was, I guess."

Jeff nodded his head in partial agreement. "Maybe. But in truth, I think he only said those words because he is a man not prepared to sacrifice anything for anyone." Again the hand reached out for Scott's shoulder, only this time the hold was strong. "That was _his_ truth he spoke of, not _yours_."

"But it does cause pain and hate, doesn't it?"

Jeff shook his head, partly in answer to the question, partly in exasperation at Scott's stubborn streak. He had to admit, he could be just as strong-minded at times, but sometimes it was a trait he hated to have passed on. He had to laugh at that.

"Scott, I think you're analysing things too deeply – something I'd expect more from Virgil or John. Yes, death can cause pain, there's no disputing that. But that only shows how much you are loved."

Memories close to his heart began to surface, reminding Jeff of his experience of love and painful loss. Lucille had inspired him throughout the time he had known her. Even now, in death, she was providing the inspiration he needed to help their son.

He looked over at his son, one of life's treasures he had been blessed with. Even now he was learning things about his boys he had never previously discovered; things about their characters and personality as they evolved further into adulthood.

Staring into Scott's eyes, throwing emphasis into his next words, he spoke from his heart. "We can only know our worth to another person when we have the power to break their heart in absence."

He pulled back his hand and returned to leaning on the balcony railing. "Your mother certainly broke my heart."

Scott suddenly wished the earth would open below him and swallow him up for resurrecting such painful memories for him and his father, though admittedly they were fewer than he would have liked. He only held twelve wonderful years of memories – far more than his brothers – but he cherished every single one of them.

"I'm sorry, Dad." The words were spoken with the most sincere of apologies.

"Sorry for what?"

"For being so stupid, and for bringing up the past like that." Scott ran a free hand over his face. "I guess I'm tired."

"Well, I'm glad I could be here to reassure you."

The talk over, Scott pushed himself from the railings and headed over to the steps. His father watched as he headed back to his brothers.

"Scott?"

Scott stopped in his tracks, half-way down the steps. He turned to look over his shoulder, towards the man for whom he had endless respect for. Jeff wiped a hand over his mouth, a little hesitant to speak.

"Just…" The words were hard to form. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself."

Scott smiled, happy to be able to comply with such a request. "I will, Dad." With a quick salute he skipped down the remaining steps.

Jeff watched as he rejoined his brothers, diving back into the sea of conversation. He watched them laugh and talk, and soaked it all up as though the moment would last forever. He knew John was watching over them, somewhere in the vastness of space, supping his own hot chocolate and drinking in the day's events. The father mulled over the conversation he had just bared witness to, hoping his son would be able to release himself from such disturbing thoughts that the Hood had encaged him in.

Jeff's last words hadn't exactly left his lips as he had intended. In truth, he had wanted his son – all of his sons – to promise him that they would always come home. To promise that they would never leave him behind just as their mother had done.

He didn't think he could survive such heartbreak again.

No, that wasn't what he had meant, or else he wouldn't have offered his sons the opportunity to work for International Rescue. In those thoughts he himself was being selfish, wanting to deny the world of hope that someone out there was prepared to cross the line and risk their lives to save those in need.

To the world they were saints – virtuous martyrs out to fight against the forces of nature, and sometimes, mankind. They weren't there simply to give a false illusion of hope. It was a shame not everyone shared in their dreams of humanity.

To people like the Hood, they had become a means to an immense power – one man in complete control; a dictatorship over life and death. That life had no value whatsoever.

That was what frightened Jeff the most.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

It wasn't long after the talk with his father that Scott and the other brothers called it a night. All were exhausted from their escapades of the day, both physically and mentally, and even after such adventures, each was aware that a rescue call could still come in. Just because they had had a bad day didn't mean nobody else was.

Scott was the first to succumb, bidding good night to the rest of the crowd. The fire was now nothing more than burning embers, a lukewarm glow in the centre of the group. Under the light of the full moon, it was an eerie glow that barely illuminated their faces.

"I think I'm going to call it a night – get to bed before I end up sleeping out under the stars." Scott held back the yawn that threatened to interrupt the flow of his words. Dark circles were underlying all of the brothers' eyes; Gordon especially was finding it hard to remain awake.

"I'll come with you. Boy, I'm goosed!" Gordon pushed himself to his feet, then turned to Alan to offer a hand up, expecting him to follow.

His younger brother shook off the gesture with a wave of his hand. "I'm going to stay out here for a bit."

"I'll stay with you. I love to watch the moonlight shimmer across the surface of the water." Tin-Tin smiled, glancing down to Alan beside her.

Three sets of eyes rolled in sync, all thinking the same thing. Deciding to leave the two love birds alone, the brothers picked up their empty mugs – their drinks long ago finished in the midst of conversation – and headed for the kitchen. They each passed the window where the glass had been smashed earlier, now boarded over until the new sheet of glass could be fitted. Virgil shivered at the sight, the memories replaying over in his mind. Scott noticed the look and checked his brother over again. A couple of cuts had tape over them to protect from infection, but most of the cuts were nothing more than superficial. Virgil caught Scott's examination of his face and smiled, letting him know he was fine.

Gordon was the last to enter the kitchen, behind his older brothers. He set his used mug down on the side, ready for washing.

"How's the back holding up Gords?"

Scott frowned at the question, the injury news to him. Gordon shrugged off any concerns. "It's not too bad. Still a little achy, but give it a couple of days and it'll be good as new."

He turned to Scott as he added, "Don't ask. It's a _long_ story."

He could tell Scott wasn't happy with that answer with his soft grunt of reply. Virgil rolled his eyes skyward. Scott wasn't willing to let Gordon off so easily, but Gordon was also very good at dodging subjects he didn't want to talk about.

"So, Scott, what's the plan for tomorrow? Going to check on your 'bird?"

And a dodge it was. Such an innocent sounding query caught both elder men off-guard. Gordon was planning something.

"What's it to you, Gords?"

A trickster's smile played on Gordon's lips, his eyes full of faked innocence. "Just curious, that's all." Neither brother was convinced. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, who says I'm up to anything?"

"We do, since you're only 'curious' when you want to plan in advance for something." Virgil replied, raising an eyebrow.

Gordon gave an overly exasperated sigh, knowing full well nothing he said would convince them otherwise. "Well, I'll leave you two to work out whatever it is you think I've done. G'night guys."

"Night, Gordon." Virgil called to his brother's back as he disappeared through the doorway.

Pushing away from the counter on where he had been leaning, Virgil stretched out his arms and made his own way to the doorway. "I'm heading up too. You coming, Scott?"

"I'll be right behind. Go on, you get to sleep."

Virgil paused by the door, holding the frame as he turned to look over his shoulder. Making sure that Scott was going to be fine, he gave a confident smile that showed he felt reassured, then turned back to leave. Scott smiled back, a silent message passing between them that made them feel secure. It was a bond all the brothers shared to an extent, but for Scott it was the strongest with Virgil.

That was how he knew it wouldn't be long before Virgil reappeared in the doorway with a word of caution. "Make sure you check your soap before you go using it – I overheard him talking about 'cleaning up' earlier on."

Scott couldn't help but chuckle at the comment. "I will, Virg. Thanks for the warning."

Virgil paused in the doorway, hesitant to leave. In truth he was still pinching himself to be sure Scott was safe. That by leaving it would all be a dream, and he would lose his brother again.

Scott cocked his head to one side and impatiently folded his arms. Virgil took the hint. "Night, Scott."

"Night, Virgil." The returned brother watched the young man leave for a second time, knowing this time he wouldn't be tempted to return.

Left alone to his thoughts, Scott glanced around him as though he had lost something. He still felt overwhelmed with the flood of affection he had received from his family, pleased to have him home again. There was still the trace of the negative thoughts that had plagued him, courtesy of the Hood, but he knew they would soon evaporate after a good night's rest.

There was one last thing he needed to do before retiring to his room. Lifting his wrist comm. to his lips, he set to work on the task.

::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::

Things were quiet across the world, bringing a welcomed peace that gave John an opportunity to sit back and catch up with some reading. His current choice was one concerning the investigation into the existence of white holes in space – previous and current research and theories all laid out for him to soak in. It was the third time he had read the book, but that hadn't stopped him from enjoying the material again.

He didn't catch the signal of an incoming call the first time, so engrossed was he with his reading. It wasn't until he paused that he caught the bleeping in the background, realised it was a call from home and rushed over from his seat to the control panel.

Quickly pressing the necessary button, he opened the communication channel. "Thunderbird Five here receiving you…" He looked at the computer monitor to see who was contacting him. He was mildly surprised to see it was "…Scott?"

There was a faint chuckle from Scott. _"Hi John, how's it going?"_

"Hi, er… Things are quiet up here, so far." John sat back in the chair behind him, interlacing his fingers in his lap. "How about you, Scott?"

"_I'm good – worn out, but good. I take it there's been no further news on the Hood?"_

John shook his head. "Nothing so far. There's been a flurry of excitement over the police radio frequencies, pleased they've caught a dangerous criminal after 'extensive investigation'. International Rescue has made the global headlines again, hailed as 'heroes'. We're all over social media too." He couldn't hide the pride he felt.

"_I'm just glad he's away from the island. You should have seen all the information he'd collected on us – pictures, video files, blueprints. Hopefully Brains' new invention will ensure he doesn't remember anything about us."_ Scott ran a hand through his hair, agitated by the thought of their enemy invading not only their organisational base, but their home too.

"Brains is a genius. You have to have faith in his work. Besides, like you always say, we simply _deny everything_ if anyone starts asking questions."

"_You've been listening to me way too many times."_ Scott's grin shone through the screen, infecting John as he returned the expression.

"I'm just stating facts." John shrugged nonchalantly. His face returned to seriousness as he changed topic. "So, Scott, what can I do for you?"

"_Can't a guy call up his younger brother for a chat every once in a while, without arousing suspicion?"_ Scott raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't hide the fact he had other motives for his call. And in reality he knew John knew that fact.

"In your case Scott, it's never for a chat. Usually it's to see if we're okay because you're worrying to death about us." He watched Scott's eyes widen ever so slightly, a look of being caught out red-handed. "I know you Scott, and sometimes you're as easy to read as one of my books."

"_Okay then Sigmund Freud, what is it you think I'm so worried about?"_

"Ah, well, that's where my psychoanalytic powers end, and your power of speech begins."

Scott wondered if his younger brother could truly read minds, being perceptive as he was. John was often known as the mysterious brother – the one who never liked to reveal too much about himself, instead happy to remain in the background. It was only his close family who were even allowed to glimpse the real persona behind the masks of IR Communications Expert and middle brother, as Scott had found out many years ago under that night sky.

"_I can't hide much from you, can I?"_

"Well, it's not a case of hiding something from me. You weren't even attempting to hide anything this time. No, I guess it's just one of those times where you've got a burning question to ask me, and it's shining through like a shooting star. So go ahead," He held out a hand. "Fire away."

"_No, it's not… I mean, it's…"_ Scott was trying to work out how to word his thoughts, but was finding it tricky. _"While I was out in Canada…"_ It wasn't coming out how he had intended. Breathing deeply, he dove straight in. _"How do you handle being alone up there, John?"_

John was admittedly surprised by the question. He thought through the possible reasons why Scott was confiding in him, but nothing came to mind. "I guess I've never really thought about it before. I don't mind being on my own – sometimes there's nothing I like better than my own company."

"_But don't you ever feel lonely without any of us nearby?"_

John smiled, knowing the real answer to that question. He had inherited his father's unique way of taking a problem and rotating it until it appeared easier to solve. "I don't think of myself as being alone, Scott."

"_How do you mean?"_

John was about to continue when he noticed the image shake on-screen. "What are you doing?"

"_Sorry John, I'm just heading up to my room." _Scott had just finished climbing the stairs to the upper level.

"Oh, right." Returning to his previous track of thought, he continued. "What I mean is, while I'm up here I don't dwell on the fact I'm alone. In fact, I never consider that I _am_ alone, because I know I've got you guys back on earth to talk to, should I ever have the need.

"You're all only ever a call away, and that's enough for me. Besides, I've got plenty to occupy my mind – books, work, astrology, and various other things." John still looked puzzled as Scott entered his room. "Why do you ask?"

Scott turned towards his bed, the door closing behind him in a smooth motion. _"I've always been curious,"_ he began, as he sat on the bed and pushed himself up to lean against the wall, legs outstretched in front. _"Back in Canada I was alone, lost in the middle of nowhere with no idea of where to head to. I guess…"_ Again he ran a hand through his hair. _"I guess for the first time… I felt as though there was no one there with me – no one to turn to, no one to seek comfort from. I missed you guys._

"_Even when I went into the Air Force I knew you were all out there somewhere, just a simple phone call away. But out in the wilderness, I was afraid I was never going to see you again. I… I was no longer in contact with base. I've never felt so isolated before."_

John could sympathise with the sentiment. Admittedly, his first tour of duty in Thunderbird Five had been difficult. The first few nights he had hardly slept for more than an hour, missing his family so much. Though he liked the solitude and the peace, sometimes he just needed to know someone was there, in the background.

He had never admitted it, but the first night in Thunderbird Five had been hell. When Alan had called to check up on him he had been extremely grateful. Perhaps, he mused, it was time he told Alan how much he had appreciated that call.

"I can understand where you're coming from, Scott, but you got through it okay. You pushed on, and never gave up, and you managed to find your way back to us."

A thought occurred to John, and he quickly continued. "Aren't you forgetting that you practically raised us, with Dad? You're the oldest, and you've had to experience everything on your own without a big brother helping you along. I think you're wrong Scott – you _have_ been on your own but you've never noticed, and you've always known we'll be there to back you up, no matter what."

Scott snorted softly, trying to hide the fact he was beginning to feel embarrassed. _"And you know I'd do the same for you. After all, it's my job to look after you guys. It's just natural."_

"No Scott – being the big brother isn't just 'a job', it's much more than that. For you it was, anyway. You had to try and fill part of the gap Mom left – not an easy thing to ask of a twelve-year-old."

"_Don't forget I had you to help me."_

"I took orders from you, more like." Both brothers chuckled; some things hadn't changed.

"_But you're the mature one of us all. The mediator, stepping into various fights to break us up. Remember when Alan threw you in the pool by mistake because he was trying to reach for Gordon? That was only because you stepped in-between them to try and calm them down."_

John nodded in sober thought, remembering the incident clearly. "Oh yes, I remember." John would be the first to admit he wasn't a fan of swimming, disliking water as much as Gordon disliked space. In that sense they were opposites. "I've still got to get Alan back for that. Speaking of Alan… Why don't you ask him the same question – after all, he spends a month at a time up here just like me. He's perhaps more likely to feel lonely than me, since he's more a sociable person."

Scott shook his head, smiling. _"I would, but he's spending some time on the beach… with Tin-Tin."_

"I see. Little brother is currently 'occupied'." He gave a knowing smirk. Alan wasn't one to be subtle about his intentions, as they had discovered when Eddie Houseman had visited before his unfortunate accident. Alan was almost prepared to leave the man hanging on the cliff edge, but his altruistic nature – and a stern prod from his father – had changed that outcome.

"But seriously, Scott, you've never anything to be fearful of. We're right behind you every step of the way."

"_I know that, John, and I really do appreciate it. Anyway,"_ Scott turned to look at his digital clock by his bedside. _"I'd better get some sleep. Thanks for listening, John."_

"It's my job to listen." John smiled, hoping to back up his words with the affection he felt for his older brother.

He watched as Scott shifted, wanting to say something more but unsure how to express the words. Eventually he spoke up, looking directly into John's icy blue eyes to reinforce his words. _"I love you, you know that."_

John knew he really didn't need to give an answer, but he couldn't hide the grin that erupted on his face. "I know, Scott. And… Well, I love you too." John found it just as hard to say. "And Scott? You tell anyone I just said that, and I'll tell Grandma where you keep your secret stash of food."

"_Course I won't. Don't forget, it works both ways."_ Scott laughed, feeling the earlier embarrassment drain from him. Their grandmother had always insisted that they never hide their emotions, especially towards each other because she feared there was always the possibility that one day they would regret not expressing how much they cared.

It would be that day when one of them would not return home.

John shook those feelings from his mind and turned back to his brother one last time. "Take care Scott."

"_You too, Johnny."_

And with a click the connection ended.

* * *

_Well, this is it, we're near the end with only one more chapter (epilogue) to go!_


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_1__st__ December, 2068_

There she was.

His queen of the skies, his elegant bird that led the team on every rescue. The flagship of International Rescue. He had missed her greatly.

With a happy bounce in his steps he ascended the platform ladder two steps at a time, up to the floor of the gantry by the base of his beauty. Nothing could hold back his smile at seeing his 'bird once again.

In the distance behind him, he heard the electronic motors of the door to the hangar as it hissed open, allowing access for the small group wishing to pay a visit.

Looking down, he saw the gleeful expressions of his brothers as they looked up to where he leant on the railings. "Hi Scott! Making sure she's still in one piece?"

Scott couldn't help but hide a grin at Virgil's enquiry. Stepping back from the metal railing, he returned to study his lady. He stared at the bodywork, beginning his scrutiny of Thunderbird One.

"Well, Scotty boy, how does she look?" Gordon couldn't help the huge grin that exploded onto his face as he watched his brother examine his plane.

"We took good care of her while you were gone," Alan chimed in, watching as Scott began to circle the base of the enormous craft.

Reaching out, he ran his fingertips over the cool metallic finish, every bump and groove familiar and welcoming to him. Granted she was a little dirty, but she appeared to be in top condition.

Footsteps on the metal ladder reverberated around the launch pad as his closest brother joined him at his side. Virgil stood at his right, and as one they looked up towards the very top of the craft, right to the scarlet tip 115 feet above them.

Similar echoes of footsteps signalled their younger brothers were close behind them. Placing a gentle hand on Scott's shoulder, and giving a knowing squeeze, Virgil expressed a simple but welcomed delight at his brother's return.

"It's good to have you back, Scott. We missed you." Deep down, Scott knew it would be more accurate to replace the 'we' with 'I' in Virgil's case. Scott nodded in return, patting the hand that rested on his shoulder.

"I missed you too."

"Hey, Scott?" Both Virgil and Scott turned their heads towards the young blonde. "Gordon and I were wondering what it was like… well, to be _bald_."

"Yeah, and to be on the FBI's ten most wanted," Gordon poked in.

Scott rolled his eyes. His younger brothers were hyper about something – of which he had no idea, and really he didn't want to know. He continued his examination of his ship, feeling the contours of the panelling as his fingertips brushed the edges. "You know, guys, it's no fun being a wanted criminal, trying to hide from the law all the time."

"Yeah, but Scott, you were _the Hood_! You were the ultimate villain, like the T-1000 was the ultimate villain in Terminator 2." Gordon's grin didn't relent. If anything it grew suspiciously bigger.

"Like Kim Jong-Il in Team America: World Police," Alan added, catching on to his brother's line of conversation with a knowing wink.

"Don't forget Darth Vader from the Star Wars series. Now _there's_ a classic."

Scott held up a hand in retreat. "Okay, okay, I get the picture. But what's with the sudden interest in being the bad guy? I didn't ask to switch bodies with a psychotic, bald-headed – "

Scott's abrupt halt in the middle of his sentence caused his brothers to turn to face him. A frown creased the pilot's forehead at something, and he stepped closer to see better. Within a fraction of a second realisation dawned, making him spin his head over to where his younger brothers stood…

…or had been standing. The telltale sound of footsteps scrambling down the ladder told him just who the guilty party was.

"Gordon! Alan!" he shouted, but he was too late. The 'Terrible Two' had already initiated their escape, now halfway across the hangar heading towards the safety of the exit.

Virgil quickly stepped aside as his brother clambered his way over to the ladder, confusion crossing his face. Stepping over to where Scott had been, he looked over the silver bodywork.

What he spotted made him splutter with laughter. It was only small, but it was a beautiful work of art.

* * *

_**HoOd woZ Ere**_

– _**20 6**__**t**__**8 –**_

* * *

All written in the finest handwriting, in a pretty shade of rose pink. No doubt it was Gordon's idea and Alan's execution. He had to admit it was an excellent prank.

Things were definitely back to normal. Gordon and Alan were risking their necks for a practical joke; John was keeping a watchful eye over them up in Thunderbird Five, no doubt worrying over the safety of his youngest siblings. Scott was finally back at home, in control and after his brothers' blood.

Virgil smiled with satisfaction. He had his best friend back home, and the family was all together safe and sound – mostly. Best of all, they were secure in the knowledge that the Hood's plan had once again been foiled.

With that, there was nothing more he could ask for.

* * *

_And there ends this story :) I can't believe it's come to an end. I've really enjoyed posting it these last few months, and I hope you've all enjoyed reading it. I will be personally replying to reviews as soon as I can - I wanted to wait until I'd finished posting. But a big BIG thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, it means a lot. I hope to see you all again soon!  
_


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